


Broken Pieces

by Indiana_J



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Grief/Mourning, friendship to romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5816725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indiana_J/pseuds/Indiana_J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Bethany's capture by the Templars, Hawke starts falling apart. Drowning in guilt, she finds herself relying more than ever on the strange extended family that she's gathered by her side. But of all of them, it's Varric who stands to help her the most as she tries to figure out how to move forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunshine

Madam Lusine stood poised in the doorway, arms crossed, as she watched her girls work.  “Shall there be anything else for you, Master Dwarf?” 

Grinning, Varric lazily waved a hand in the direction of the Bloomin’ Rose’s proprietar as her three ladies moved about the room.  Every bone in his body felt as if someone had liquified them right in his skin and, by the stone, he’d never felt anything this good.

“My lady, my dearest lady, I believe that I have everything that I need right here,” he said happily.  “In fact, I might just end up sleeping right in this very room.”

She chuckled at that as Sarah passed by her, Varric’s clothes piled haphazardly over one arm.  “You would not be the first, Varric, nor the last.”  Lusine nodded her head at the laundry pile.  “My suggestion to you is to have those burned.”

The clothes that he’d worn almost every day while making his way back from the Deep Roads, stuck underground with no source of uncontaminated running water.  Varric shuddered.  “Burn the lot, with my blessing.”  He opened one eye fully.  “Except …”

“Except the jacket, of course.  I do know the needs of all my clients.”  She hesitated as the last girl left the room.  “Speaking of, are you sure …”

“Madam, never let it be said that the jewels … oh sod it, sorry, Lusine, I’m just too fucking tired to pontificate.  Another time, I promise.”  He didn’t see her leave, just heard the door closed, as he sank deeper into the giant - and more importantly _hot_  - bath.

The Rose was good for many things to many people but only a select few, the favorites and the ones that never took advantage, were allowed to pay for the rights to use the ladies giant tubs for bathing and soaking.  He knew for a fact that other things than bathing happened in this room but he was too exhausted from the trip back from the Deep Roads to do anything but get clean and soak.

And maybe soak away some of the burning anger that he felt towards Bartrand.  He and his brother had never been the most loving examples of siblings but they were _brothers._   Bartrand screwing him over was nothing new but leaving him to die, well, that was a new trick.

Varrick grunted and sank up to his chin in the water.  Soak now, remember what clean was like now, worry about skinning Bartrand later.

*

After three actual baths, Varrick had spent the last hour simply soaking in a freshly drawn, steaming tub.  He was probably never going to not be wrinkled at this point but considering how encrusted he’d been when he’d first walked into the Rose, Varric decided he was perfectly happy walking around like a prune.

He wasn’t so exhausted or so relaxed that the voices coming down the hall didn’t rouse him from his half-doze.  They were low enough that he couldn’t make out distinct voices but there were at least two stopping outside the door to the bathes.

Resting his arms along the sides of the tub, his hand grazed Bianca’s handle - he might be naked and soaking wet but if it was an attack, they wouldn’t find him defenseless.

But it was only Lusine opening the door, though she looked far less pleased than she had when she’d left a few hours before.  “I know you rented this space for as long as you needed it,” she said stiffly, “and _were not to be disturbed_ , but …”

She was interrupted by a voice in the hallway.  “But this is important.”

He gave the madame a lopsided smile.  Hawke.  It was always Hawke but he never seemed to mind.

“Hawke, to what do I owe -” Varric’s voice dried up in his throat when Lusine moved to the side and Hawke stepped through the door.  They’d arrived early afternoon in Kirkwall and had gone their separate ways almost immediately - him to first make sure Bartrand hadn’t come crawling back and then to the Rose.  He’d assumed that Hawke had gone home, met up with the family, cleaned up and then slept like the dead. Anders and Isabella had also immediately separated, heading off to find clean … everything, really.

But from the look of her, Hawke hadn’t seen anything resembling clean clothes, water or a bed since he’d last seen her.  And if someone who hadn’t worked closely with her for so long had looked at her, they would have seen the filth and some of the exhaustion but they would entirely miss the haunted look that hadn’t been in her eyes just a few hours ago.

Varric looked at Lusine and she nodded, leaving them in peace.

The tub was big enough for him to stand in without showing her what the Ancestors had blessed him with, so Varric waded to the other end and braced himself for bad news.  “Hawke?  What’s happened?”

Scattered around the room were chairs of various shapes and sizes; Varric watched, concern building, as Hawke stumbled to the one that was seated nearest the tub he was in.  She sank into it and he noted that her hands had started to shake

“They came for her, Varric.  The Templars took Bethany.”

Of everything she could have said, it seemed that cut that the deepest.  Varric braced himself against the tub side as Hawke continued softly, telling him what she’d found when she’d returned home, what she could gather had been happening while they’d been stuck in the Deep Roads; the words just poured out of her and Varric realized even the always strong Hawke had her moments where she just couldn’t be strong any longer.

While she talked, of words said by her mother and the aftermath, Varric snagged the nearest towel as he pulled himself out of the tub.  He didn’t bother to dry off, just wrapped it around his waist so he could stand in front of Hawke.  She’d stopped talking at that point and was simply staring off into the distance, exhaustion and grief warring for dominance.

He watched her face, saw how she struggled to bring herself back from that brink, close the walls and strap on the armor again.  That might have been fine a different time but Varric knew that some things were better let out than hidden.

She didn’t protest when he picked up her arm and started to carefully pull off the armor she still had on.  It was filthy and, if possible, even dirtier than his own clothes had been.  Hawke was always in the middle of the fight while he stayed on the outskirts, picking off enemies with Bianca; the extra filth and injuries on Hawke made a lot of sense in context.

Hawke let him take off the braces and boots before she roused herself enough to ask him what he was doing.

“There are things, Hawke, that even I can’t fix,” he said, grimacing as he gingerly placed another piece of armor on the pile next to his feet.  “And sometimes, believe it or not, even I run out of words to say.”

Stone’s Breathe, but he’d always had a soft spot for Sunshine.  Bethany hadn’t deserved the Gallows and Hawke didn’t deserve the pain that went with it.

“I can, however, help you scrape off the Deep Roads, dark spawn and whatever else you happen to have in your hair.  I did rent out the bathing rooms for as long as I have need of it - it would be selfish of me not to let you have a turn.”  His nose wrinkled.  “And trust me, it’s a favor to everyone else, too.”

Hawke scoffed and pulled away from him.  “I appreciate the thought, Varric, but I don’t …”

He laid a hand on her shoulder, gently but firmly, and nudged her chin up with the other so she was looking at him.  “Hawke.  It’s sometime after midnight and the entire city is asleep.  Well, except for villains and charming rogues like ourselves.  If you’re thinking of ways to go after Sunshine sometime in the next few hours, you have to realize it’ll be a suicide mission.  The Templars will be expecting you.”

Now, a few days from now, years even but he didn’t voice that.  Hawke already knew. The look in her eyes told him that she already knew that far too well.

“There’s nothing you can do right now except take a bath and …”  Varric squinted at her.  “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?  Don’t answer that, I think I know the answer.  I’ll get the girls to scrounge something up from the kitchens, even if it’s just toast or what passes for stew here.”

Hawke turned her head away but not before he saw the hint of a smile come and go.  “Why do I even bother trying to argue with you, Varric?”

“Hawke, I honestly have no idea.  Perhaps one day you’ll just magically come to your senses and just agree with me on everything.  Until that day, I’m going to say something that poor Anders has probably been dying to since we first walked into his already rather bizarre life - strip.”

His words startled a second of brevity out of her.  She snorted in laughter and covered her face for a moment; he didn’t know if it was an attempt to stop laughing, crying or finding the patience not to kill him.  But since Hawke stood up a few moments later and started to remove the remaining pieces of armor, Varric wasn’t going to complain.

Except maybe about the smell.

Ancestors, had he really smelled like that?  No wonder they almost hadn’t let him into the Rose.

While she divested herself of armor and clothes, he wandered over and cracked the door open, inwardly giving himself a gold piece when he startled a young woman hovering outside the door.  “We’ll be dropping off another pile of clothes to be … dealt with,” Varric said, straight faced, as if he hadn’t caught her eavesdropping.  “Armor as well but no burning, not if you’d like to keep Hawke happy.  Send it out somewhere or cleaned in-house still earns you some extra coin.”

“Of course, Varric,” she said, though her eyes had drifted above his head and to where Hawke was.  “Such a pity that she only picks Jethann …”

At Varric’s pointed look, the girl winked at him and darted off.  No doubt, he thought as he closed the door once more, to spread rumors that Hawke and her trusty business partner were knocking boots in the bath.  Let them talk.  Varric knew she’d prefer an amusing rumor over them talking themselves about something more real than imagined trysts.  Sleeping with someone only added spice to her reputation; vulnerability, however real, would only damage it.

It was clear as he went back to her that Hawke had no real concerns regarding body modesty.  She’d balled up the clothes she’d worn under her armor and tossed them as far away from her as possible reaching down to unstrap the hidden daggers that she kept stashed in various holsters..

Considering the circumstances, he didn’t let his eyes linger as she finished and finally stepped into the bath, taking a deep breath as she sank into the water but it was hard not to note the lithe muscles; the long limbs; scars that he’d been around when she’d received them and ones she’d spun tales about over drinks; sun-kissed skin only where armor and cloth didn’t lay and pale white underneath …

Gorgeous but sharp and as deadly as her namesake, he noted, knowing those details might make their way into a future story.

Varric laid his hands gently on her shoulders as she sank into the hot water and, with no comment to the shudders he felt under his palms, said, “Well then, Mistress Hawke, let’s see if we can’t do the residents of Hightown a favor and get you cleaned up.”

She hesitated.  “Varric?”

“Yes, Hawke?”

When she looked at him over her shoulder, dirt streaked face dripping with fresh tears, Varric nearly choked up himself.

“Just … talk to me?  Tell a story, anything you want.”  She pressed her fingers against her forehead as if to press back a headache or the tears or both.  “I need you to talk over the voices in my head.”

“Anything for you, Waffles,” he responded, dropping a quick kiss to the cleanest part of her head that he could find.  There was more he could do - like present Bartrand’s head on a platter - but not tonight.  If all he could do was help get her clean and tell her stories, he’d talk until he lost his voice and scrub until his skin fell off.

Varric owed Hawke that much.

He owed Bethany, too.


	2. The Morning After

Hawke rolled over and stared at the ceiling, trying hard not to listen to the soft murmur of voices.  It wasn’t as if Varric and the person he was speaking with (must be mother, she thought with amused despair) had woken her - she’d been slipping in and out of real sleep ever since she’d passed out.

Nightmares and an overactive mind had kept waking her out of the first real sleep she’d gotten since they’d gone with Bartrand, though she couldn’t deny that sleeping in a real bed was a luxury she had almost forgotten about.

The voices stopped and she sat up a little, braced on her elbows, as Varric re-appeared.  “Reassuring my mother that I was still in one piece?” she asked.

“Something like that though now she might be more worried about your reputation, considering that the door was answered by a handsome rogue such as myself.”

“With bedhead and no shoes, I might add.”

“What can I say, I’m handsome no matter the time of day.  Speaking of …”  The bed didn’t move much as he climbed back onto the side he’d been sleeping on.  “Go back to sleep, Hawke, it isn’t quite morning yet.”

She opened her mouth, concern overriding the desire to sleep, but Varric wasn’t done yet.  “Your mother walked here with Gamlen, Waffles, and she’ll be leaving with more than a few pairs of friendly eyes watching to make sure she arrives safely.  Trust me.”

Varric and his connections, she thought, laying back down.  The dwarf was snoring in minutes but it took longer for her to drift back off.  Her mind was filled with fragments from the last day - her sister being led away.  Her mother’s grief and sharp words - both well deserved, Hawke thought, swallowing the pain in her throat away.  The look on Varric’s face when she’d broken the news to him...

Varric hadn’t been the first person she’d sought out but after she’d discovered that Aveline been sent away to the Wounded Coast to handle an emergency, the only other one she immediately thought of had been Varric.

He’d talked to her while she’d cried and washed away weeks of filth and sludge, told her stories she’d never heard before and re-told some of her favorites.  She barely remembered him fetching some clothes for her to wear out; she remembered staring at the path that wound past the Hanged Man, the one that would take her to Gamlen’s when he’d touched her elbow and had steered her into the tavern and to his set of suites.

And then sleep broken with nightmares had followed while he snored next to her.

Hawke took a deep breath and pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to hold back a new flow of tears.  First, Carver, now Bethany.  She was a miserable excuse for an older sister, she thought, hiccuping slightly.  She should have taken her sister with her, kept her out of the gaze of the Templars, kept her _with_  her.

What had she done?

‘Papa, I’m so sorry,’ she thought, turning away from Varric and burying her face in the pillow.  As Kirkwall slowly grew lighter, Hawke cried out her grief with only a sleeping dwarf for a witness.  She cried for Bethany and for Carver, for her father and her mother’s grief - and for herself.

*

This time, the murmuring of voices actually did wake her and Hawke pried open her eyes to glare in the vague direction of the door to the suite.  She’d slept more solidly in the last few hours but they still weren’t enough to satisfy her exhausted body.  But she doubted that she would be able to catch anymore sleep, not if the light pouring in from the window was any indication.

Her irritation at being disturbed evaporated as Varric once again reappeared - but this time, holding a steaming carafe that smelled like…

“Oh Maker, please tell me that’s what I think that is,” Hawke moaned, forcing herself to sit completely up.  She gazed at it with a mixture of desire and pleading, ignoring Varric’s amused laughter.

“If you think it might be fresh Antivan coffee, care of our beloved soon-to-be Captain Aveline, Hawke, then yes, it is exactly what you think it is.”

She moved with alacrity, shuffling to the end of the bed and reaching out with both hands.  Varric just grinned, looking far too put together despite the fact that he was still shoeless and his bedhead hadn’t been cured yet.  Shirt untucked, even, and yet he still looked like he could carry on a business meeting if he had to - Hawke decided that she just might hate him.  But only if he didn’t give her the coffee.

“Planning on drinking it straight from the carafe, Waffles?”

“If I have to.  Gimme.”  Her outstretched hands beckoned at him.

“Patience.  I do have some mugs around here and we can actually drink this like civilized people.  You remember what that was like, don’t you?” he asked, quickly fishing out the two promised mugs from somewhere.

“Only vaguely and growing less the longer I don’t have …”  Hawke sighed happily when Varric shoved one of the now filled mugs into her hands and she settled back amongst the pile of blankets and sheets to enjoy the first taste of coffee in far too long.  And Antivan, too …

A few sips in and Hawke eyed Varric over the rim of the mug.  “I suppose you sent word of what happened to Aveline?” she asked, piecing it together.  She hadn’t mentioned to the guards what had brought her looking for her friend, though they would have mentioned that she had stopped by, and she doubted that Aveline would have spoken to her mother or Gamlen.

Besides, she recalled originally falling asleep to the sound of quill upon pen and the sight of Varric standing and writing something by candlelight.

Varric nodded and she watched as he leaned back into the chair at the table, clearly enjoying his drink as much as she was.  “I figured you’d want her to know before the others.  She would have stopped in to say hello but she’s off to go let everyone else know.”  They shared a look.  “There’s a few that I’d prefer to hear about this in person.  In the presence of someone who generally is very hard to knock over.”

Anders.

Hawke scrubbed her face with her free hand and forced herself to leave the warmth of the bed in favor of pacing around the room.

“I didn’t play that hand wrong, did I?” Varric quietly asked and she shook her head.

“No, no.  I - thank you.  It was hard enough telling you.”  The coffee was too hot by far but she drank it anyway, using the warmth to chase away any lingering emotional hangovers that were hanging around.  “They’re just … oh Maker, they’re going to know roughly around the same time and come straight here, aren’t they?”

She turned to stare at Varric, who looked far too comfortable with the idea of her entire … gang, crew, ragtag group of misfits, whatever they were … descending on his home well before noon.  Hawke glanced down at herself, at the oversized shirt of Varric’s that covered everything important but left her legs and feet bare; she knew her hair, while clean at least, was sticking up in every direction and her face …

Tear stained.  Exhausted. Grief stricken.

Hawke gave Varric a panicked look and, in turn, he pointed over to the door.  She looked and sighed - clothes, clean, and hers with a back up set of armor.  “Aveline does think of everything, doesn’t she?”  she said but then looked down at her coffee with some longing.

“I’d say you have, oh, about an hour before the horde descends upon you,” Varric offered and she gratefully sank in the nearest chair.  “After that, well, better have something more on for fear that Fenris may just have a heart attack.”

Despite herself, she snickered softly as a memory stirred.  “Remember when Merrill fell down that muddy ravine once and when we finally got her pulled up, she promptly stripped right in front of us so she could go rinse off in the river?”

Varric’s laugh was louder, more real, solid almost.  “Stone’s breath, I thought that boy was going to faint right then and there.  Spent the entire time almost with his hands covering his eyes.  I almost pissed myself laughing at him.”

“And Merrill had no idea what was so funny.  She was so concerned that something was wrong with Fenris that she kept …”  Hawke was laughing so much her words faltered for a moment before she could continue, “She kept jumping out of the river to run over to him, checking on him.”

The dwarf was laughing more, now, a hand over his eyes as he remembered the sopping, still mud soaked, naked Merrill leaning down over a mortified Fenris, who’d been trying so hard not to look while also trying to escape while Hawk and Varric just laughed themselves sick next to the river.

Hawke wasn’t quite certain when the laughter became tears or when Varric had to rescue her cup of coffee before it ruined the writings scattered on the table top or when he pulled her to his chest and let her cry it out again.  It could have been ten minutes or an hour by the time she finally stopped and just sat there, sniffling into his shoulder.

She muttered into his shoulder, “I feel like this is starting to become a habit.”

Varric didn’t respond for a few minutes, just stood there with her soaking his wrinkled shirt and then he said, so softly she wouldn’t have heard him if they hadn’t been so close, “Trust me, Hawke, I owe you more than a few shirts to cry on.”

Hawke pulled back so she could look at him in confusion.  “Varric, what …”

“No, let me say this before the unholy terror that is our particular group of friends storm the Hanged Man.  They snagged Sunshine because we were delayed in getting back here, because my bastard - sorry mother - of a brother pulled the rug out from under us.”  Even when they’d been stuck in those tunnels, Hawke didn’t think she’d ever seen Varric look so miserable.  “Look, I’m his brother.  I’ve known Bartrand to be a sneaky son of a bitch, underhanded and just generally miserable to be around but, Hawke, I swear if I’d known …”

She felt a fresh surge of tears well up when his voice broke and Hawke found herself not-so-gently shaking Varric by his shoulders.  “Varric, for once in your well-spoken life, just shut up.  Bartrand’s going to have hell to pay once we catch him but don’t think I blame you. Don't you _ever_  think it.”

“But …”

“No buts.  I spent all night blaming myself and the only thing I have to show for it is a headache …”

“And a sopping wet shirt,” Varric interrupted, plucking at his shirt.

She smiled.  “And a sopping wet shirt.  I don’t want you to do the same.  Varric, one of us has to keep a level head and if I can’t do it …”

A soft knock interrupted her and Hawke’s eyes widened slightly.  “I thought I had about an hour!”

A muffled voice called out, “Hawke?”

“Daisy must have run all the way from the alienage,” Varric said fondly.  He patted Hawke’s hands and then pointed to the bedroom area.  “Go, change, look decent.  I’ll tidy myself up and keep anyone from busting in without you being decent.”  He paused and then gave her a slow grin.  “After all, only dwarves who share their rented bathes at the Rose get that honor.”

Groaning, Hawke shoved him and stood - taking care, though, to yank off the shirt and throw it back in his face as she went to put on her armor.

Both the physical and emotional ones.


	3. The Gang's All Here

Despite Varric’s best effort, Hawke had barely managed to finish cinching closed the last buckle on her borrowed armor before Merrill bolted through the door.  The elf paused for half a moment in what appeared to be an attempt to compose herself and, when that obviously failed, threw herself at Hawke.

The rogue grunted slightly under the impact but Merrill’s weight was so slight that she didn’t even so much as rock back on her heels.

Hawke awkwardly put her arms around Merrill - it seemed much of her physical contact these days ended in violence and not in the giving or receiving of comfort.  As Merrill cried into her shoulder, she caught sight of Varric refreshing her coffee before he disappeared back into the hallway.

“Oh, Hawke, I’m so sorry,” Merrill sobbed and it felt strange to focus on someone else’s tears for a change.  Strange but nice.

Untangling herself, Hawke pulled back and lead Merrill over to the edge of the bed where they sat amongst the tangled sheets.  Merrill was still crying but the tears had slowed and she tried to smile at Hawke but failed miserably.  “I’m so sorry,” she said again.  “It’s …”

She grabbed Hawke’s hands and Hawke was startled at how cold Merrill’s hands were.  “It’s all my fault!” Merrill wailed.

“What?” Hawke asked, shocked.  She searched Merrill’s face but found no clues there so she asked, “What do you mean, Merrill?  How could any of this be your fault?”

The words came out in a rush.  “Because while you were gone, I told Bethany that I was lonely with you and Varric and Anders and Isabella gone.  Aveline would check in on me when she could but it wasn’t the same.”  There was no need to mention Fenris - he had thawed slightly towards Merrill but not in such a way as to become friendly with her.  “She should have been laying low but she started coming by the Alienage almost every day, especially once we realized that you were not coming back when you should have been.  And - and, Hawke, I’m _so_  sorry but the Templars must have caught notice of her during those visits!”

Hawke reached out and firmly but gently caught Merrill’s face between her hands.  It was the only way she could think of to still her friend for even a moment.  “Merrill, listen to me.  Bethany knew the risks and she knew how to play the game.  Our father taught her, she learned from the best.  She was caught not because of you or those visits or half a dozen other things.”

It was me, Hawke wanted to scream.  I removed myself from Kirkwall’s playing field and they swept in like vultures.  But she didn’t because if she started she didn’t think she could stop the screams any time soon.

“They played the game better than her,” Hawke said, voice pained, instead, dropping her hands to Merrill’s shoulders.  “Don’t blame yourself, sweetheart.  Bethany wouldn’t want that and _I_  certainly don’t.”

Sniffling back a fresh wave of tears, Merrill laid her head on Hawke’s shoulder.  “I miss her and she’s not even been gone a day.  Is that silly?”

Hawke rested her chin on Merrill’s head and breathed in the earthy scent that always seemed to surround her, even after months of city living.  “No,” she said softly, “I’ve been missing her since the moment I got back.”  

They didn’t speak for the next little while.  They simply sat and took comfort from the quiet presence of each other - Hawke didn’t know the last time she’d seen Merrill so still or quiet.  But, especially at that moment, it was a pleasant surprise.

Eventually she heard the door open again and Varric wandered back into his rooms.  “Alright, Waffles, you might want to have another cup of coffee,” he said, a slight smile on his face.  “I think the hoard is about descend upon my humble abode and you better drink up.”

*

By the time Anders barrelled through the door, Hawke had managed to power through two more cups of the Antivan brew and had been attempting to wheedle Varric out of his when the door opened with enough force that it bounced off the wall with a loud crash.  The blonde mage stumbled in, looking wild but, thankfully, human enough as he gasped for air. 

There was hardly a moment to do anything more than stare at him before Aveline pushed past him, arms full of two heavy baskets, with Isabela and Fenris tripping on her heels.  Everyone started talking at once, complete with shouting (Anders) and tears (Merrill), and the cacophony made Hawke want to throw herself out the nearest window.  They all meant well but by Andraste …

“That is **enough** , children.”  Aveline didn't even have to raise her voice to a shout in order to cut through the noise like a well honed sword through armor.  She dropped the baskets in the middle of the table, despite Varric’s protest about his paperwork.  “Oh, stuff it, dwarf.  I know you don’t keep your important documents out where Isabela can rifle through them.”

“Not that I haven’t found where he keeps those,” Isabela responded, blowing a kiss in Hawke’s direction before she started to rifle through the contents of the baskets.

Walking around to the head of the table where Hawke had laid claim to a seat, and the carafe, Aveline dropped a hand on Hawke’s shoulder and squeezed.  “Breakfast,” she said simply, nodding as Isabella began to pull out still steaming loaves of bread, hunks of cheese and jars of honey.

Hawke stared.

“How in Andraste’s name did you have time to go collecting our cheerful crew and clear out every bakery in High Town?” she asked, awed.  Avelin frequently awed her but this was just impressive.

Aveline leaned a hip against a bookcase and shrugged.  “Just remember, Hawke - I am that good.  Eat up - I can only guess what you ended up surviving on down there.  The rest of you, too, eat and shut your gobs while Hawke gets something into her.”

Much like a force of nature, one could only withstand Aveline’s force of will so long.  Anders, looking like someone had yanked the wind right out of him, sank into one seat, as did Merrill and Varric.  Fenris and Aveline remained holding up various walls along the perimeter while Isabela hopped up onto the table and sat cross legged on top of Guild ledgers and half-written stories.

Hawke had never been shy about her appetite but her lingering exhaustion and heavy grief curbed her urge to eat.  Varric had managed to force something stew like in her last night and she should have been starving but the sight of the food in front of her made her stomach turn.

“Here, lovely,” Isabela said and placed in front of Hawke a thick slice of bread with some meat on it but none of the richer toppings that the others were helping themselves too.  “Bit like feeding that bitchy morning after hangover.”  She paused.  “Or that’s what people who get them tell me.  Won’t overly upset your stomach and lady man-hands is right, your body is starving for something other than moss and whatever else we ended up eating down there...”

Hawke rolled her eyes good naturedly.  “We did _not_  end up eating the moss,” she reminded her primly.

“Came close, though,” Varric sighed.

“Moss can be quite delicious if you know how to cook it,” Merrill said around a mouthful of bread and honey.  “Though you have to make sure you don’t pick the bad moss or you’ll be sick.”

“And how exactly do you tell the bad moss from the good?” Aveline asked.

“The bad moss is slightly less green.”

“Andraste help you then if you happen to be color blind and lost in the woods,” Isabella laughed, ruffling Merrill’s hair.

Despite the gaping hole where Bethany’s presence should have been, Hawke felt the first hint of peace since she'd arrived home.  When had she let these people get so close to her?  She couldn’t remember any one moment since she had stepped off the boat that would tell her that This was the Moment.  Instead, it had been a gradual process and one she hadn’t even been aware of.

But, like most peaceful moments in her life, this one wouldn't last.

As she ate, she became aware of Ander’s steady gaze on her and Hawke knew he was barely holding in whatever it was he had to say.  She eyed him across the table and then sighed, knowing she was going to regret this but knowing it was going to come out sooner or later.  Better to control the when and how then let it be a surprise.  

Dropping the bread, Hawke spread her hands in front of her and sighed. “All right, Anders, say what you need to say before you burst.”  Aveline made a protesting noise but she waved her down, intent upon the mage at the other end of the table.

Anders, who had been mostly picking at the food in front of him, immediately stopped pretending he was even vaguely interested in breakfast.  “What are you planning, Hawke?” he asked, quiet but intent.  “About Bethany and the Gallows?  It’s too soon to plan a strike, they’d be expecting you but you must have been thinking of a way. You've been shielding her for her entire life, you must have a plan.”

The room stilled.  This, here, was what they had all been wondering.  Hawke didn’t even have to look at them to know what they were thinking - Fenris, a blank, frozen slate who wouldn’t breathe until she answered and then his response might be equally tricky to handle.  Aveline, who had seen them break how many laws but would she be able to tolerate such an act?  Merrill, confused and upset but hopeful.  Isabela, still eating from the sounds of it, nonchalant until it was actually time to act.  Varric, who had already partially spoken his opinion during the night, who now simply watched and waited. He was with her, no matter what.

And Anders.  Nearly vibrating out of his seat while he waited for the answer, ready to burn Kirkwall down to the ground if need be.  Hawke met his gaze and she wondered if he was ready to rip the walls apart to free Bethany or if she was just a convenient excuse for the rage that boiled inside him. The idea that Anders was willing to use Bethany as a pawn left a sour taste in her mouth.

But she knew her answer.  Even though it broke her heart even more, she’d known it from the moment they had led her sister out of Gamlen’s house.  The look in Bethany’s eyes had sealed it for her.

“There is no plan,” Hawke said finally, breaking the tension filled silence.  “Now or … later.”  Her throat seized but she pushed through.  “The templar force is simply too strong and the Gallows damn near unbreakable.”

“They aren’t!” Anders entreated.  “I know people inside, I know how to _g_ _et_  us inside without detection.”

Hawke shook her head, her world narrowed to her sorrow and to Ander’s anger.  Two different sides of the same coin.  “And then what?  Do you think I haven’t gone through every possible plan in my head?  What if we were to get inside - how do we smuggle out, successfully, a newly caught mage? Where do we go from there? Where do we run to?”

He stared at her in disgust and she couldn't help but scowl back in response. "So you're saying that the unending piles of gold we're dragging up from the underground won't be of use? To help your  _sister_?"

Hawke's hand slashed through the air. "Now who's being a stubborn ass?" she snapped. "Gold, no matter how much, will only go so far. Meredith is relentless and Bethany is too useful. With her under Templar watch, they're able to keep an eye on me." Everything hurt - her heart, her head, even her bones. Grief and anger had sunk into her so deep she didn't think they'd ever let her go.

The sound of his hand slamming on the table made Merrill jump and Isabela to drop her hand down towards her knives.  “There are _ways_  Hawke!  You do not understand -”

“ _What of my mother?_ ” Her words, so forceful, almost seemed to shove him back in his seat.  “I would drown in a sea of templar blood if I could guarantee my sister’s safe escape but she is not the only one I must think of!  My mother, unprotected, with simply Gamlen to watch over her?  The minute I turn my eye towards the Gallows, they will turn their eyes to her!”  Hawke shook her head, tears threatening to fall.  “Bethany would never forgive me.  I would never forgive me. I failed her and we always knew what that meant.”

Somewhere outside of the pounding in her head, Hawke heard Isabella whisper “Oh great buggering shit, here we go” and struggled to figure out what the pirate was talking about.

And then she looked, she really looked, at Anders.  At how he had gotten to his feet with the chair on the ground and the crackle of blue energy shivered around his outline.

“Your mother would understand!” cried Anders ... no, it Vengeance now. “Must we watch, time and again, as those we love or even those we have never met, get pulled away from their freedom?  The time to act is now, before they break her, before they use her and every other mage up for their own purposes!”

Andraste’s tits, Hawke thought, hands grasping for her weapons, this was it.  Anders had finally snapped and the day she feared was going to come to pass.  The day where she looked down upon her blades to find the blood of a friend darkening them.

“ **ENOUGH!** ” a voice shouted and a wall of pure magic hit Hawke square in the chest and sent her tumbling backwards into the chair.  It overturned and she spilled out the other side, out of breath but already scrambling to her feet, ready to leap over the table if necessary to stop Ander’s from releasing another burst of magic.

But as she regained her feet, she was faced with Merrill standing with hand stretched out to Anders, almost beckoning - except that was the same hand had just sent enough energy to knock him against the far wall.  Gone were the tears and confusion and in their place stood a strength of will that promised that it would go unmatched. Hawke realized she hadn't been the intended target and had only gotten caught in the residual energy.

Well, shit.

Stunned, utterly stunned, silence followed as she dropped her hand and sank back into her chair; Merrill’s head was bowed and she refused to meet even Hawke’s eyes but Hawke noticed a faint blush on the elf’s face.

Varric cleared his throat.  “Daisy’s right,” he said, voice casual as if whatever the hell that had been hadn’t actually happened.  “Enough’s enough.  Isabella, why don’t you see Anders here home and why don’t the rest of you grab some food and head off?”  He sighed at the mess that littered the table and floors as a result.  “Looks like I’ll be scrubbing honey off the table now…”

“Come on, crazy man,” Isabella said cheerfully, clearing the table so she could grab Anders not so gently by the arm and haul him to his feet.  He went to say something but a sharp whisper in his ear shut him up and he didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as she pulled him from the room.

Merrill shot to her feet and ran from the room once Anders had disappeared and Varric shot Fenris a look.  “I’ll make sure no one attempts to cut her throat between here and the alienage,” Fenris sighed.  “But … Hawke.  A moment?”

Still shaken and more than a little disturbed by what had happened, Hawke picked her way across the floor, attempting to not step on fallen papers or broken jars of honey.

Fenris was waiting for her in the hall and she looked at him, feeling exhausted.  She braced herself to hear about the dangers of Anders or, now, of Merrill and she thought she might just scream if she had to go through it.

“I …”  Fenris looked down at his hands and then up at her.  “I just wanted you to know - you would have had my sword, had you had need of it.”  And then he left, to follow in Merrill’s wake and Hawke leaned against the wall, legs unwilling to support her, and she buried her head in her hands.


	4. Well, now what?

The mess was, actually, far less of a hassle to clean than Varric had been expecting.  He had seen Hawke and Aveline out, with the second intending to see the first home before going back to the barracks, before coming back to his permanent suite of rooms.  It did rather look like a tornado had snaked its way through and he had to admit that it had almost felt that way, too.

 

He shook his head - too often they all forgot that Merrill was a strong mage in her own right.  Naivety and sweetness had apparently clouded their eyes to the fact that the elf’s gentle smile hide the sharp bite of power.  Something, he decided, he wouldn’t forget soon. And he could guarantee that  _Anders_ wouldn't forget, either.

 

Thanks to Merrill’s show of power, most of the breakfast items now littered the floor amongst writings and Guild reports.  Thankfully, Aveline _had_  been right. Varric never left anything of import out and so thankfully the only things he’d lost to honey and the tramplings of his friends were mere scraps and random notes.  Nothing he regretted crumpling and tossing.

 

It took only a small amount of time to return the room to rights and eventually he sank back down into his chair; the headache he’d been nursing since last night had started to build back up in intensity since the moment Anders had opened his mouth.

 

Stone’s breath, he thought, rubbing his face.  Anders and his inability to keep that stupid mouth of his shut.  He’d always wondered what his friend had been like before Vengeance had entered the picture but he doubt he’d ever know and it was starting to concern him that it only seemed to be getting worse, not better. The time spent trapped underground had probably added to the growing problem.

 

But then again, what did he know?  Dwarves were incapable of not only magic but of also dreaming which meant that the only first hand knowledge his people generally had of demons tended to be on the other end of a sharp, pointy object.  And if things were going _well,_  the dwarf would be the one on the less sharp end.

 

He knew that he was mentally stalling.  Thinking of Anders and his “guest” was easier than thinking about Bethany, Hawke or his own pain and guilt.

 

The lingering exhaustion from their ordeal in the Deep Roads was simply compounding everything and it was growing increasingly hard to concentrate on anything of significance.  The temptation to just go back to sleep was strong but Varric knew that sleeping the rest of the day away was not in his best interests.

 

What was in his best interests, and the interests of Hawke and company, was to hit the streets and see what the latest gossip and rumors were.  Varric needed to get a feel on what was being whispered about the expedition and Bartrand - he highly doubted that his brother would be stupid enough to still be in Kirkwall but there would be talk. Bartrand had several months on them and he'd left too much behind in the city to completely abandon it.

 

He would also feel out the general atmosphere in regards to the guards and Templars.  Had they always had their eye on Bethany?  Was it because of Hawke or had something tipped Kirkwall’s precarious balancing act finally?  They’d be expecting him to make inquiries, of course, but they’d forget that gathering information was as easy for Varric Tethras’ as breathing.

 

They’d be spilling their secrets to him with a smile on their faces in no time.

 

*

 

By the time he came across Rivani, the expression on his face was grim. The sun had started the downward arc that was the signal for the unsavory types to start waking up - business would soon be booming in Kirkwall and the time for beauty rest was fading.

 

Varric quirked an eyebrow up at Isabela when she slid off of a box as he walked past.  He had found her near the docks, towards the end of his careful navigation of the gossips and rumor mills, though it was of no surprise to find the pirate loitering near the water and incoming ships.  “Done with babysitting duty already?” he asked as she fell in step with him.

 

“As if he needed one,” she responded cheerfully.  “I think between the shame of almost blowing us up and the shock of having Merrill be the one to put him in his place, he’ll be hiding for at least the rest of the week.”

 

He snorted.  There wasn’t a lot of sympathy in her tone and he couldn’t bring himself to drum up much, either.  Anders had crossed one hell of a line earlier and it was going to take some time to smooth ruffled feathers.

 

“Back to your old tricks?” Isabela asked after a few moments.  She looked relaxed but Varric knew better; he’d bet his share of the Deep Roads treasure that she not only knew where everyone was in their vicinity but also what it would take to remove them should a threat arise.  Only a fool would think her an easy target.

 

But then again, Kirkwall was _full_  of idiots. A nice brawl would be just the thing to clear the mind...

 

“And what tricks would those be, Rivaini?” Varric asked, not for the first that day time missing his overcoat.  He could only pray to whatever Ancestors still liked him that the girls at the Rose had managed to get it back to a wearable shape.  “I’m just wandering Kirkwall, being my same old charming, handsome self.”

 

She laughed and leered down at him.  “I’ll say - mm, handsome, you need to lose that jacket more often.  Shows off that glorious chest hair even more.”

 

He chuckled.  “Rivani, one can only handle the magnificence of my chest hair for so long.  I wear the coat for your protection, not my own.”

 

Isabela looked offended.  “Sweetcheeks, the things I have _handled_  in my lifetime would make those hairs turn silver in shock!”

 

He highly doubted that - he wasn’t Merril, the blushing flower of the group.  But then again, Isabela did get up to some mighty interesting things if any of her stories were to be believed …

 

Varric enjoyed the banter for the brief escape it offered him.  His thoughts had been dark and angry since he’d set out, though he’d done his best to hide it behind a quick smile and easy laugh.  He doubted anyone he’d interacted with had noticed; they were acquaintances and contacts, not friends.

 

“So?” she prodded, bumping her hip into him.  The slight nudge didn’t even rock him from his steady stride.

 

They’d ended up at Castillon’s Landing, a place both of them far better than others would have liked them too.  It just seemed to attract unsavory sorts which, in turn, seemed to attract Hawke and her merry band of cohorts.  It was still early enough in the day, though, that the usual suspects were nowhere in sight. Probably sleeping off well earned hangovers.

 

Sighing, Varric rubbed at the spot between his eyes and tried to mentally will the headache away.  “I’ve talked the ear off of anyone who would sit still enough to let me,” he told Isabela.  “But a lot of my normal contacts, or at least ones who’d have any actual information, seemed rather scarce today.”

 

He knew some of the others didn’t quite understand how deep his contacts in Kirkwall went.  He’d been born and raised in the city and knew everyone worth knowing and quite a few that others might not think were worth knowing.  Varric had been disgruntled at the lack of knowledgeable people around - the mood in the city was tense and people were keeping their heads down.

 

“Can you blame them?” she asked, leaning a shoulder against the nearest wall with her ankles neatly crossed atop each other.

 

“Yes,” he drawled and she laughed.  “I don’t know what I was expecting Rivaini but the lack of information certainly wasn’t it.”

 

“It’s not like we don’t know what happened or why.”  Her voice was almost gentle and he followed her gaze to the deceptively calm waters of the Waking Seas.  If you ignored the trash, the odd body, and the smell, it was a beautiful sight.  “The question, Varric, isn’t how or why anymore.  It’s what do we do now?”

 

Once again since returning to the city, Varric found he lacked the answers.


	5. Rest First, Mend Fences Later

Aveline had given her _very_  firm instructions to sleep and to try to eat something if she could.  Hawke could tell that the other woman had wanted to stay but the duties she’d picked up as Captain were calling.  Aveline had reluctantly left with a promise to stop by later and, Hawke thought with a wry smile, there would probably be friendly eyes watching Gamlen’s house when Aveline was out and about.

 

The moment the door closed behind her, she was enveloped by the familiar twilight that never went away because no matter how big the fire or how many lanterns were lit, the place Gamlen called home was never bright enough.  It had always bothered her and, along with the smell, was one of a few reasons she’d spent so much time wandering Kirkwall. Besides, of course, the formerly pressing need to build enough capital to throw her hat into the ring with Bartrand.  Hawke scowled but the expression melted away as the warm body of her Mabri pressed against her leg.

 

She immediately dropped to the floor and wrapped her arms around his thick neck.  Chompers - named for his puppy habit of constantly biting everything, to the delight of the Hawke children, dismay of their mother and amusement of their father - panted happily in her ear and drooled all over her shoulder, whining happily.

 

Hawke froze as the figure of her mother appeared in the doorway that led to their sleeping area.  While Leandra was wearing a worn sleeping shift, her flyaway hair and puffy eyes told Hawke a story of lack of sleep and plenty of tears.  She wondered if she looked like that. She wondered if she looked worse.

 

She took a deep breath as she tried to think of what to say.  But she had to make sure she worded what she said carefully and Hawke wasn't sure she had the energy to watch her tongue. Hawke and Leandra’s relationship had sometimes been rocky, even during the good times, and she still felt the sting of her mother’s accusations. And the ones about Bethany had dragged the ones about Carver out of the depths of her memory.

 

Leandra seemed to be struggling as well before she sighed and closed her eyes.  “Your dwarf reassured me that you’d get some rest,” her voice quiet and yet so loud in that small house.  “But I don’t believe him.  Come to bed, Marion, the rest …”  Her mother swallowed.  “The rest we’ll sort out later.”

 

Hawke rose, hesitating. Rest was what she needed but there was so much to  _do_...

 

"Please?"

 

It took longer to remove the armor than normal.  Between the exhaustion and not knowing her borrowed items the way she did her own armor, Hawke’s fingers felt clumsy and fat.  Leandra spent the time stoking the fire and feeding Chompers, much to his delight. The silence was awkward but more welcomed than speech.

 

When the last piece was removed and put away, Hawke drifted into the next room.  When they’d first moved to Kirkwall and Gamlen had grudgingly housed them, he’d moved his sleeping pallet into the third room and somehow had managed to find, borrow or steal the roughly made bunk beds that the three Hawke women were to use.  Leandra had taken the bottom bed while Hawke and Bethany had squeezed themselves onto the top.

 

She stared at the bed and swallowed as her eyes grew damp.  There was no way to ignore Bethany’s absence, not here. They’d spent so many nights snickering and talking with their mother sound asleep beneath them.  Plotting, gossiping, laughing. They hadn’t had much back in Feralden but it had certainly been more than this empty cold house.  But at least they’d had each other.

 

Hawke hadn’t realized it at the time but that meant more to her than all the gold in the Deep Roads. Why _hadn’t_  she realized it before? Why hadn't she just  _told_ Bethany how much ...

 

Fingers closed gently around her wrist and she fought the need to flinch and jerk away.  Her instincts were still raw and overstrung from trying to survive the Dark Spawn and other creatures that had stalked them on their way to the surface.  But showing that now to her mother would potentially be a disaster and not one she might be able to recover from.

 

Leandra hesitantly pressed a kiss to Hawke’s forehead as they maneuvered themselves into the bottom bunk, pressing close to ward off the chill and the grief.  It had been many years since Hawke could remember laying in the comforting circle of her mother’s arms.  It certainly wasn’t the same as it had been when she’d been a child - she’d inherited her father’s build and boasted longer, sturdier limbs than Leandra.  The bed was smaller and harder than the last one.  And their family broken and scattered to the winds.

 

But there was something soothing about resting her head on Leandra’s shoulder and the weight of the arm against hers.  Too tired for tears, Hawke released the last fingerholds on her waking mind and drifted off to the sound of Leandra’s heartbeat soothing her to sleep.

 

~~

 

It was hard to tell what day it was when Hawke was next awake. It could have been the same day or the next - all she knew was that she was awake, starving and there was an unpleasant conversation that needed to happen. One of several.

 

Leandra had left the bed long enough that the spot next to Hawke was cool to the touch which afforded her a moment to think hard. The idea of talking to her mother in the house about anything important sent her heart racing. The never ending gloom inside reminded her too much of the Deep Roads and she longed to be outside, in the sun and wind. Away from nightmares and troubling memories.

 

Thinking of being outside forced her to remember a few things and she gave a tired smile. She knew of a place that would be perfect for both of the Hawke women.

 

~~

 

Hours later, a quiet Hawke and Leandra paused in front of the stone steps and the older woman gave her daughter an incredulous look. “I didn’t even know you knew where the Chantry was!” she said and Hawke smiled, knowing it was both a rebuke _and_  a joke.

 

“I’ve been here a few times,” she said vaguely, waving a hand in the air. It would be best not to mention why she’d been there. “And it’s not really the Chantry we’re after today…”

 

Despite the questioning look sent her way, Hawke didn’t explain further as she led the way inside the giant building. It was empty - what day _was_  it? - except for a few odd people come to pay their respects or seek advice from those inside. Her eyes flickered back and forth, trying to find …

 

Aha, there he was. Standing by the pulpit, head bent slightly, Sebastian Vael was currently in conversation with the Grand Cleric Elthina. Hawke hesitated, not wanting to interrupt their conservation or put herself right in the spotlight by walking up those stairs. Thankfully, someone was watching out for her. Elthina had noticed her presence and was nodding in her direction; Sebastian’s gaze followed the Grand Cleric’s and a small smile appeared on his face.

 

Well, that solved it. Hawke was content to stand with her mother while the Chantry Brother … actually, she thought, was he a Brother still? If her memory served her right, he’d publicly tossed that aside in the square but she had no idea if he’d returned to the Chantry’s fold.

 

Hawke’s wandering thoughts halted when Sebastian reached them and she held out her hand in greeting. 

 

He clasped it warmly with his own. “Serah Hawke! What a pleasant surprise. I hadn’t realized you were back from your trip.”

 

The mask she was wearing was hard to keep up but she managed. “A few days ago,” she said. “I hadn’t realized you were aware I was gone.”

 

Sebastian shrugged. “I wanted to find and thank you again for your help with my ...” His eyes flickered to Leandra standing behind Hawke. “Family matter a few months back. But I was informed you were away.”

 

Hawke took a step to the side and gestured towards her mother. “Sebastian Vael, may I introduce you to my mother, Leandra Hawke? Mother, this is Sebastian, a …” She floundered as she came back to the question she’d been trying to figure out earlier.

 

He gave her a small smile before widening it as he took Leandra’s hands in his own. “A devoted follower of Andraste and a current thorn in the side of our beloved Grand Cleric. It’s a pleasure.”

 

Leandra looked a little flustered and Hawke didn’t miss the sharp look her mother sent her. Eventually, this would come back to haunt her.

 

“It’s always delightful to meet my daughter’s friends,” Leandra said in return and Hawke knew now was the time to move this along. She wasn't in the mood to ward off questions about who Sebastian was  _'to her'_.

 

“About that being thanked again thing,” Hawke said, bringing the attention back to her. “I have a small favor and I promise you that it doesn’t involve anything untoward or terrible or, shockingly, weapons.”

 

He laughed, catching the attention of a few of the Chantry Sisters. “Now this I have to see, Hawke.”

 

“I know the Chantry has some private and quiet gardens that are generally off-limits to the public. Any chance of us being able to snag one of those for a few hours?”

 

Now she had his attention and she could see that he was intrigued but also too polite to ask her outright what she needed them for. Which was exactly why she’d wanted to ask _him_. Choir Boy, Varric had called him once and for a very good reason. “Considering the help you gave me, Hawke, this is easy enough to arrange. If you wouldn’t mind waiting for a few minutes, I’ll make sure you’ll have your garden.”

 

As he left, Leandra touched her elbow. “Marion, would you mind …”

  
She knew what she wanted and Hawke squeezed her mother’s hand. “Go and pay your respects to Andraste. I’ll be right here.” The brief look of vulnerability on Leandra’s face cut her to the quick. “I promise,” she said, blinking back tears, “I’m not going anywhere. Now, go, while the Chantry Sisters over there place bets on when I'll burst into flames for simply standing in the Chantry."


	6. I'm Told Crying is Good for the Soul

The Hawkes stood in stunned silence as Sebastian gestured at the garden around them. “It’s smaller than the Viscount’s but, well, modesty is a virtue I strive to achieve under Andraste’s gaze.” There was certainly a smile in his words and more than a little bit of pride.

 

The garden _was_  small but it was bursting with color and green - not a color often found in Kirkwall proper - and obviously very well cared for. A small path wound its way through flowers Hawke had no name for and benches invited visitors to rest under shady trees. She saw clearly the love, and yes pride, that had gone into maintaining it. Simply standing there brought a sense of peace she hadn't felt in ... years, probably.

 

“I am completely shocked that Kirkwall hasn’t managed to kill this off yet,” she said in amazement and Sebastian laughed.

 

“Oh, you have no idea the amount of vexation the climate has caused the Sisters and Brothers who work on this.” His smile grew. It was nearly a smirk. “There have been a few times they’ve needed confession after a particularly stressful day of weeding.”

 

The very idea conjured up a small smile of her own but it didn’t last. Thankfully, Sebastian was a quick study and with a quiet reassurance that they wouldn’t be disturbed, he let them be.

 

“I can see why they keep this to themselves.” Leandra had wandered over to a small bench and had sat beneath the shade of a tree. Shade that was empty of assassins was in short commodity in Kirkwall.

 

“So…” Hawke breathed in and tried to think about where to start. Conversation about her _feelings_ , especially with her mother, weren’t on the top of her ‘fun things to do - ever’ list. But after months away and Bethany’s capture, this was something Hawke had to do or what was left of her family would rot away.

 

Tears pricked her eyes and she took another deep breath, trying to speak when her mother called her name.

 

“Marion.” Leandra’s hands were twisting the skirt of her dress into knots and Hawke dropped to her knees so she could gently stop her. Her mother took a shuddering breath. “Oh Marion, I am so sorry.”

 

“What, no -”

 

A headshake and Hawke stopped. “No, let me speak. I am _so_  sorry for … oh, everything! What I said to you the other day, the hateful words I said when Carver was killed. I have always placed too much of a burden on your shoulders and have wrongfully taken out my pain on you when you were grieving yourself.”

 

Their hands gripped each other tightly on her lap and Leandra kept going. “I was beside myself with worry when you and the expedition didn’t return on time. I kept telling myself that delays were inevitable, that everything was fine. But days turned into weeks and …” She closed her eyes but couldn’t stop the flow of tears. “I was convinced we had lost you and, for what, for gold? The circumstance that I had put us in had taken a second child from me. And then that morning, Gamlen opened the door to find Templars on our doorstep and Bethany…”

 

Hawke’s own tears were staining her mother’s skirt and she wondered how many articles of clothing she would ruin before this was all over? Would it ever be over?

 

“And Bethany was being stripped from us. And then you were there, looking just _awful_  but alive, oh thank the Maker, you were alive. But I just had this explosion of emotions and I couldn’t stop it. I regained my lost daughter only to lose another and you …” Leandra leaned over and rested her head on top of Hawke’s. “We have always been able to hurt each other the most,” she whispered. “Your father would say it was because we were too much alike. And I have hurt you and I drove you away. But, my dear girl, I wish you could see the love in my heart for you. And the pride.”

 

They sat for some time, openly crying amidst the flowers and the trees. Eventually, the tears stopped if only because they were both fairly drained dry and there wasn’t much left at the moment.

 

Unsurprisingly, a low-level headache was throbbing away in Hawke’s head, not unlike the pain that sometimes came with too much of the stuff they passed off for whiskey in the Hanged Man. Leandra’s cool fingers combing through her hair helped, so she kept her head in her mother’s lap while her head throbbed.

 

“My turn, I think,” she said, voice sounding nothing like her own. She would need water - or perhaps some of that whiskey soon.

 

“It can wait, if you need the time.”

 

She shook her head and reluctantly pulled away. “You waited months for my return, not knowing if I was alive or dead. You deserve to know what happened.” And she needed to say it, more than she had realized. The Deep Roads would remain a nightmare for months to come but it was a nightmare that needed to be voiced. And so, taking care to omit only the worst part (better to leave out the _dragon_  she thought), Hawke told her story. Leandra grew more pale the longer Hawke spoke and her grip on her daughter's hands grew painful, though neither pulled away.

 

“And then, we were home and … you know the rest.” She gave her mother a lopsided smile.

 

Silence, still and angry, met the end of her story. Hawke felt her heart clench and she wondered if she’d done the right thing. Maybe her mother would have been better off …

 

“If that Bartrand ever shows his face, I’ll kill him myself!” Leandra snapped, standing abruptly as if to march off to do just that.

 

Hawke stared up at her mother, mouth hanging open and then it came. A long peal of laughter that knocked her clean on her ass and, shockingly, this one didn’t end in tears. When she was finally able to stop, Leandra was looking at her strangely but Hawke couldn’t explain why she’d found her mother, of all people, threatening to kill Bartrand. Instead, she wiped the tears out of her eyes and just said, “You might have to stand in line. Varric has first dibs, then me. Though I think you just might bump Isabella out of third place.”

 

Leandra made an unhappy noise. “I should hope so. I never liked him but I never would have thought …”

 

Sighing, Hawke pulled herself off the ground and onto the bench, where she waited for her mother to join her. “None of us did, especially Varric.” 

 

Guilt piled upon guilt - she’d been so focused on her grief and anger at losing Bethany that Bartrand’s treachery had faded to the background. What kind of friend let that fall to the wayside?

 

She roused herself from her dark thoughts. “Mother …” Hawke grabbed Leandra’s hands as she turned to face her. “I … we need to talk about our next steps. For Bethany.” Her throat felt dry and tight as she forced the rest of the words out. “I told my … friends that I do not have a plan to break into the Gallows. Not now, possibly not ever. I just … mama, I’m so sorry but …”

 

With a strength Hawke didn’t know she had, Leandra yanked her to her chest and held her tightly. “No, no, my darling, don’t cry, please don’t cry.” And yet they were both crying again. “Bethany wouldn’t want you to throw your life away, Marion, and it would be suicide. Shh, shh…”

 

“I failed her!” Hawke sobbed, clutching the fabric of her mother’s death as a wave of pain slammed into her chest. “I failed Bethany and Carver … _I was supposed to watch out for them!_ ”

  
Leandra threw her arms around Hawke and held her as tightly as she could while she whispered into her ear and cried tears of her own.


	7. Never Let Good Taste Stop You

Much later in the day, so late that the sun was nearly gone, Hawke left her mother back at home, exhausted and in need of a rest. Sebastian had escorted them out of the Chantry earlier, obviously brimming with questions at the sight of their puffy eyes but, again, too polite to ask them. 

 

There had been an awkward moment when Leandra had asked if Hawke was staying. There had been a moment of hesitation on Hawke's part but, thankfully, before her mother could jump to conclusions had slowly admitted ‘After the Deep Roads …’

 

Leandra had immediately understood and after leaving her mother safe at home, Hawke had followed her feet to, where else, the Hanging Man. It was now well after dark and the noise was deafening as she made her way inside. It seemed only a second had passed between the door swinging shut behind her and an arm being thrown over her shoulder.

 

“Hello, sweetness!” Isabela’s words were followed by a kiss to the cheek and Hawke side eyed her as she was led to their regular table in the back. She spotted 'her dwarf' as Leandra liked to call him sitting at the head of the table and thought she saw Aveline near the bar. It seemed the rest of their merry band was currently off doing other things.

 

“It seems like only the other day that you were telling me to shove my adventures up my arse and that I owed you, oh what was it?” She grinned, claiming a seat next to Varric who shoved over a full pint. “All of the booze in the world?”

 

Isabela pointed at her. “Oh, trust me, you still do and I aim to collect, Hawke. But I find myself in a forgiving mood this evening, so your perky little arse is safe this evening.”

 

“Ugh, I knew I should have stayed home,” Aveline sighed, sitting down on Hawke’s other side. “You’re reminding me of the things I did not miss when you were stuck in a hole.”

 

The pirate spread her arms wide. “Oh come on, Captain Man Hands, you _missed_  me, admit it! Like how much this entire bloody place missed me? Am I right, you drunken sods?” Isabela had leaned back in her chair as the last bit came out as a bellow.

 

It should have been impossible but the volume in the room actually managed to increase at Isabela’s yell. Whistles, yells and either a faint or someone passing out came in response and, in response, Isabela jumped on top of her chair to bow at the crowd.

 

“Just to prove how much we all missed and love you, someone shall foot the bill for the next round.” Hawke’s eyes narrowed and Isabela winked. “Someone such as a gorgeous seafaring captain as myself!”

 

“Some things never change,” Varric sighed as Isabela was hurried over to the bar to make good on her promise. The patrons of the Hanged Man never let an opportunity like that walk away.

 

“And thank the Maker for that,” Hawke muttered, earning a glance from the dwarf and a hand on her shoulder from Aveline. Too many emotions, she thought wildly, taking a deep drink. Her face instantly tried to scrunch itself into a ball. “Oh yes, some things certainly never change, like what they serve here.”

 

Aveline smirked. “Is that a sign that you’ll be stopping for the evening?”

 

“When have I ever let good taste stop me before?”

 

*

 

Varric and Hawke were, as always, the last ones standing. Aveline had begged off much earlier in the night so she could check up on a patrol. Fenris had stopped in briefly but long enough to reassure Hawke that Merrill had made it home after the ‘incident’ and to share one drink. Isabela had only left a few minutes ago with two strapping young men on her arms.

 

“Had enough?” Varric asked, head tilted towards the remains of the last round.

 

She stared at the bottom of her most recently emptied mug and swallowed hard. “I still can feel all my digits and all of my emotions, Varric. So, no, not even remotely. But Nora’s giving us that look again, so I doubt more will be coming.” Hawke sighed and thumped the mug on the table. "I suppose I'll be heading out ..."

 

He hummed under his breath and his knee bumped against hers. “Hawke?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Varric leaned forward until he caught her eye. “I might have a bottle or two of red that Fenris was kind enough to give me stashed in my room. I was saving them to celebrate our grand return to Kirkwall …”

 

It was after midnight and she knew she couldn’t go home. Not with how the darkness pressed down on her and the smoke stung her eyes. The very idea of waking up in the bed without Bethany next to her and with the Dark Spawn in her dreams caused her throat to go dry. Gamlen's house had never felt like  _home_ but now it felt more foreign and depressing than ever before. 

 

“That sounds like a brilliant idea, Messere Tethras,” she said quickly, accepting his outstretched hand. He’d lost his gloves at some point in the evening and the warmth of his hand surprised her. She couldn’t help but thread her fingers through his as he led her towards his suite.

 

“Stone’s breath, Hawke,” he laughed, “your hands are freezing! Not surprising since your feet were like blocks of ice the other day.”

 

“Should you really be complaining about the coldness of my hands and feet considering I’m sure you woke the dead with your snoring?”

 

“Nora’s never complained.”

 

“Nora didn’t share your bed.”

 

“Touché, Messere Hawke, touché!”

 

Hawke let out a sigh the moment she stepped across the threshold and felt the heat of the fire flow over her. She wasn’t sure how he did it but Varric’s rooms were always comfortable, no matter what time of the year. And between the fire and the window, what darkness was in the room was a kind she could deal with. No matter how dingy the rest of the bar looked, these rooms were always welcoming.

 

Varric produced a bottle and, unlike when Fenris drank, two glasses while she made herself at home in the chair in front of the fire. “Here.” He pressed a full glass into her hand and Hawke gave him a grateful smile.

 

“To us,” Varric toasted, clinking her glass with his.

 

“To surviving the Deep Roads,” she returned.

 

The look on his face softened, so Hawke was mostly prepared when he said softly, “To Sunshine.”

 

Her eyes filled. “To Bethany.” And they drank.

 

*

 

They didn’t make it to the second bottle but they’d certainly killed the first one. By that time, the fire had died to a dull roar, they’d both lost their boots and were sprawled across Varric’s bed. Hawke had stolen several of his pillows and was trying to burrow under them when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

 

“You know you’re going to have to talk to him soon, right?”

 

“Uggggghhhh.” Her head thunked down on a pillow. She knew who he was talking about - Anders. That was a meeting she wanted to put it off as long as possible but she knew the longer it was put off, the worse it was. Anders would hunker down and stew, she'd avoid and the others would feed off the tension.

 

His soft chuckle was felt more than heard and, gently, he removed the pillows so he could actually see the top part of her. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know.”

 

With some effort, Hawke rolled to her side so she could steal back the pillow, though it went under her head this time, not on top. “No,” she sighed, watching Varric lean back against the headboard. “It’ll go better if I do it alone. Besides, one of us needs to check in on Merrill and considering my emotional state, I'd muck it up.”

 

Varric frowned and Hawke wondered about this new rift in their group. Was this something that would be forgotten in a year or would this be something that, for their own various reasons, never healed. 

 

“Hey,” she said, reaching over and laying a hand on one of his. “Don’t frown, Tethras, it’ll cause you to get wrinkles.”

 

It got him to laugh and it wiped away the frown on his face. Mission accomplished.

 

“Trust me, wrinkles are the least of my concerns. Grey hair, on the other hand, from chasing after your ass all over, well…”

 

She hit him with a pillow. “Fine, be that way,” Hawke scoffed, sitting up. “The only reason you ever get any exercise -” Varric barked out another laugh. “- will just see herself out now, thank you.” Maybe, she thought with a sigh, she could just go to the Rose for the rest of the night. She'd be happy to pay for a bed and a fire that wouldn't go out in the middle of the night.

 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Really?” Varric drawled. “I know you better than that, Hawke. You’ve been skirting around the issue of going home all night, ever since Aveline offered to walk you back. You know I won’t throw you out, you just had to ask. And since you won't, I'm telling you - stay.”

 

Hawke pulled the pillow against her stomach and curled around it as she sat on the bed. “I know, which is why I didn’t want to ask. We’ve been attached at the hip for months now and you’ve got to be tired of me. Maker knows I’m tired of me.”

 

“Hey, no, Marion.” Varric sat up and grabbed her hands, tugging her so that she faced him again. “One, I’m in no way tired of you, especially now that you’ve had a bath. And two … this is more than just Sunshine, isn't it?”

 

“It’s dark in Gamlen’s, Varric,” she whispered, looking at him with half-closed eyes. “It’s so fucking dark. You open your eyes and it’s just … nothing pressing down on you. And, yeah, it’s Bethany too. We shared the top bunk and between that and what I know is out in that darkness…” Hawke shook her head hard. "No, you need your rest and I need to make sure I don't wear out my welcome with my favorite dwarf."

 

Varric snorted. "As if you knew any other dwarves. Stop being a stubborn ass, Hawke, and stay." As if she were made of glass, Varric slowly drew her to him as he laid back down and pulled her down until her head was resting on his shoulder. It took them a few minutes to get situated - his limbs were too stocky and hers too long - but they eventually got comfortable.

 

“My tiny little slice of paradise is yours whenever you need it, Marion.”

 

“You might live to regret that.”

  
“Nah, knowing us, I’ll get eaten by a giant cave spider before that happens.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Sleep, Waffles. I’ll be here when you wake up and, if you don't freeze me to death with your ice limbs, I might even buy you breakfast."


	8. Being Uncomfortable Adds Character

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, the 'someone takes your grief for their own agenda' actually is based off of a real life experience. Thankfully, mine didn't involve dealing with possessed mages.

No matter the day, the time or the season, Darktown always smelled terrible. It was as if someone had taken a rotten cabbage and rubbed it on a rotting corpse before spreading that lovely fragrance around every corner. It was no wonder anyone who spent any significant time down there was angry or full of despair - and, well, smelly.

 

It made sense that Anders had set up shop where he did. There was enough non-magical trouble in Darktown that the Templars only ventured down there when they had no other choice. As for the City Guard, well, Aveline kept him safe. Ultimately, no one from above really wanted to spend a large amount of time down below and it was an advantage that Anders had clung to.

 

The clinic was surprisingly empty as she pushed her way through the door. A shame, Hawke had really been hoping to find the clinic filled to the brim with the sick, giving her the perfect excuse to ‘come back later’. She was still emotionally drained from her talk with her mother and more than a little hungover from the night before.

 

It was not the best combination, especially when faced with another potentially emotionally draining conversation. Hawke was fully prepared to leap at any legitimate excuse to avoid this conversation. The clinic being empty robbed her of every single reason and she scowled, wondering if she should have lightly maimed a few people on her way down.

 

“Knock, knock!” Hawke called out, spotting movement in the back. “Any chance of a tall, blond slightly possessed healer being home?”

 

At least no one would ever accuse her of being delicate.

 

The movement in the back stopped and she nearly missed the sound of a soft sigh. And then there was nothing for so long that Hawke started forward to check, concerned Anders may have slipped out of a hidden tunnel or stuffed himself under a table, willing to wait until she’d left.

 

After all, if she’d been in his place, that was probably what she would have done.

 

Thankfully, Anders finally appeared in the flesh before she was forced to drag him out. He had to duck under the curtain that separated his sleeping quarters from the working area of the clinic. Hawke got her first good look at him when he straightened and she wasn’t able to hide her wince. He looked _terrible_. Andraste’s tits, he looked worse than she did and, until that moment, Hawke hadn’t thought that was even possible. That he was pale and wan wasn’t a surprise - they’d spent far too much time away from the sun and even Isabela had looked washed out when they’d made it back home. But this was more than that.

 

Sunken eyes and cheeks told her a story that she didn't need words for. He hadn’t been catching up on sleep or food since their return and despite her lingering anger she did feel sorry. No guilt, though, not for this. 

 

“You look … well,” Hawke said slowly, voice slightly strangled.

 

She was given a small smile for her efforts. “I appreciate the attempt.” Anders sighed again and ran his hands through his hair. “Fake as it is.”

 

Hawke shrugged one shoulder. “Can’t say I never tried.” Looking around, she found a clean table that sat low to the ground and took a seat. “So. Do you have anything to eat in this clinic of yours?”

 

“I, ah, no … well, maybe?” Anders blinked, taken aback, obviously having expected a different line of conversation. He looked around despairingly and she followed the sweep of his gaze until it landed on a fat tabby. “I mean, yes, if you happen to like milk and dried crunchy old fish?”

 

“Hmm, I think I’ll pass. Pretty sure your pets would fight me for it.”

 

“Very likely.” Anders dropped onto the bench across from her without any pretense of grace and she was reminded of the scarcrows that dotted the landscape. Loose limbed, disjointed, barely held together with random threads and sad. Alone.

 

Except where they had crows he had … cats. Lots of cats.

 

“Look, Hawke…”

 

“No.”

 

Anders frowned. “No?”

 

“No.” She leaned forward, he leaned back. There was no glow around him - yet - so she kept going. “You nearly caused me to draw my blades on you, a friend. Merrill had to blow up breakfast to prevent you from …” Hawke waved a hand in a vague manner. “That thing you do. So, no, Anders, I think I get to talk first, okay?”

 

He refused to meet her eyes. There was obviously something far more interesting in the pattern on the rough wood table under their hands. But eventually he nodded.

 

Hawke took a deep breath. “I’m sorry that what I need to do doesn’t match your plans, Anders. But my life - Bethany’s life - isn’t some chess piece to be placed just so against the Templars.” He still wouldn’t look at her but at least he wasn’t glowing yet. “I’m good. No, I’m _great_  but I can’t stand against the entire Gallows and expect to survive.”

 

“Who said surviving was part of it?” he half laughed, half cried. “Hawke, I know better than anyone that I might not …”

 

“There, exactly.”

 

Now he looked at her but he was frowning. “I'm sorry, what?”

 

“You. You said you know better than anyone that _you_  might not survive.” Underneath the calm surface, the anger and hurt that had been a constant companion since Bethany’s capture surged but she forced it down. “That doesn’t mean you can drag in or sacrifice others for your cause when they haven’t signed up for it. That's not what friends do!”

 

Anders scoffed. “You’re a hero, Hawke! You understand - you - “ He came to a stuttering stop under the force of her bitter laughter.

 

“A hero? Really? Have you met me, Anders?” The idea that someone, anyone, could label her a hero? It made her want to scream and cry at the heavens. “A hero, fuck. Try it on someone else, one who didn’t charge gold for their heroics.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, a hero and I’m not the only one who looks at you that way. You’ve done some amazing things and you understand the sacrifice that it takes! Bethany’s capture places you at exactly the right place and we can make it the right time! You have the resources, the gold, the … the pain of her …”

 

“ _It is not a shared grief!_ ” She was near to yelling but she didn’t care. “This is **my**  pain, my families pain but not yours! You don’t … you don’t get to borrow or take it for your own agenda just because it happens in front of you!”

 

“Marion, I…”

 

She slashed her hands through the air and Anders’ mouth closed with a snap. “Do you even care about Bethany?” she hissed. “Or is she just another sacrifice, another person who should throw her life away for the 'greater good'?”

 

“Of course I care about her!” The look on Hawke’s face caused the following words to die in his throat.

 

“There was a ‘but’ coming, Anders, and if you so much as utter what you were thinking …”

 

This wasn’t going the way Hawke had wanted and she could feel the distance between the two of them growing by the second. Where did her rights to her grief end and where did his rights to his belief begin? Despite the anger, she still cared for him as a friend and she had to look past the pain and hold onto that with everything she had.

 

One deep breath, then two, then three. “I don’t disagree with you,” she said finally. “It’s beyond terrible how mages are treated and I don’t think the Circles as they are work. Father raised us to avoid them, so I understand and I agree with you.”

 

Somehow, Anders managed a smile but there was no joy in it. “There’s a but coming.”

 

She nodded. “Yes, there is. I’m one person, Anders, and I have more than just myself to think about. If I make a move, they’ll crush Bethany before I even get to her. Or they’ll go after Mother. Or, Andraste only knows, they’ll pick us off one by one. I can’t risk them, any of them. I just can’t.”

 

An uncomfortable silence fell over the clinic and Hawke found she couldn’t meet his eyes. But that was okay, he probably was trying to avoid meeting hers. Time seemed to stretch out, minutes dragged out to hours, until Anders’ voice whispered, “How do we fix this?”

 

She glanced up and their eyes met. “Kicking down the Circle or -”

 

“Us. How do we fix this?”

 

It took all of her effort to not sarcastically drawl out _The gap you and Vengeance caused?”_  because it probably would have been the end of it all. And Hawke had had her fill of endings. So, instead, she forced different words out. “Time, I think. I need time to grieve and process and you need to just …”

 

Hawke’s face scrunched up and she breathed heavily through her nose. “Relax?”

 

He laughed and it was only slightly bitter. “I don’t think I’ve done that since, well, probably since the Warden Commander left.” Anders was nodding, though. “I can’t promise miracles, Hawke, but I can give you time.”

 

It should have been, she thought, enough. But Hawke knew that deep down, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t a good enough promise or apology. The anger still rolled deep within her gut at his attempt to make her grief and pain a tool for his own agenda but she offered him a small smile instead of bared teeth.

  
It would take time to forgive him and Hawke could only desperately hope that Anders gave her that time before doing something foolish.


	9. Unexpected House Guests

By the time Aveline neared home, it was almost dawn in Kirkwall.  Maybe it was the city or maybe it was her but the dawn here seemed far harsher than it had back in Ferelden.  Kirkwall was a hard city and one that, in her opinion, hadn't ventured very far past its slavery days.

 

Cut throat with a barren soul.  Maybe that was why she'd taken to it so well; it was a city that _needed_  someone like her and Hawke.

 

Aveline had always taken whatever duties she'd had very seriously but she'd never felt so needed before.  Not even Weasley had needed or wanted her as badly as this city seemed to.

 

This was why she still went on rounds like she'd never been promoted, whether it was official yet or not, to Captain of the Guard.  There was a time to sit behind the desk and there was a time to strap on the sword and walk the streets.  It kept her fresh and on her toes while telling her people that she wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty. And keeping busy while Hawke and the others had been away had kept her worries at bay. The longer she stayed out on patrol, the less time she’d had to fret herself into a nasty state of nerves, anger and worry.

 

So, on days that the worry got to be too much she would close up her office in the early afternoon, head to the Hanged Man to catch up with friends and contacts while catching a bite to eat and then she'd set out on evening patrol with the rest of the guard assigned that night.

 

For while Kirkwall was dangerous in the broad daylight, it didn't even hold a candle to the city once the darkness crept in.  Shadows could hold a number of things for the unwary guard - a corpse or a thief looking to plant a knife in someone's back; a woman looking for shelter or a lust demon with a razor sharp smile.  The guard experienced more attacks and deaths at night than they did in the day and Aveline prowled the streets with the hope that her being out there meant one less dead guard to hold a funeral for.

 

Now that Hawke and the others were back, she realized she was running out of excuses to actually do these patrols as often as she was but Aveline was finding it hard to stop.

 

But it was time to stop now that it was dusk and it was finally time to rest.  Stiff and sore from a fight she'd stumbled on a few hours ago, Aveline's plans included stripping off her armor and going to sleep.  She'd clean up her equipment and herself later that morning; sleep was far more important than shining the silver or bathing.

 

Aveline also had a feeling that with Hawke back safely in Kirkwall, and with the trouble brewing with Anders, that she was going to need to stock up on as much rest as she could fit in.

 

Home was now a small two story building that resided a few blocks from the Viscount's Keep.  It had set her back quite a bit and she had toyed with the idea of setting up house in Lowtown to keep the costs down but had decided that, ultimately, she preferred to live in a place where her house wouldn't be defaced just because she was part of the guard. 

 

She smiled at the sight of home - it wasn't large, big enough for one but well kept even before she’d purchased it.

 

But the smile dropped from her face when she approached the house as it was obvious to her that something was wrong.  Fresh mud littered her front stoop and, while it had rained a little while ago, it had been bone dry when she'd locked up that morning. 

 

All she'd wanted to do was go to sleep but now she was either going to busting in on someone stealing her silver or cleaning up a mess that the thieves would have left.  Aveline sighed, feeling severely put out, as she rolled her shoulders and loosened her sword in its scabbard.  It felt wrong to be carefully swinging open the door to her own home and creeping through the front hall like a thief herself. If someone was still in there, they were going to regret ever breaking in.

 

She stilled in the darkened hall and glowered as the slight scent of wine greeted her.  Probably her wine, too, considering that someone had lit a fire in the kitchen beyond.  A pair of muddied boots lay propped up next to the door and she knew those boots, knew instantly who'd broken into her house.

 

"How many times have I told you not to break in, Hawke?" she asked, slamming the sword firmly back into the scabbard while she stalked into the kitchen.

 

The scene looked cozy enough - the fire was burning brightly after being well tended and the bottle of wine, one of her good ones from the look of it, had been opened.  Hawke was sprawled in one of the chairs with her sock clad feet resting on the table.

 

"I believe I might have lost count," came the reply.  Aveline grunted a response, too busy batting Hawke's feet off the table to respond.

 

With that done, she inspected the bottle of wine and was vaguely pleased to see only a glass or so missing.  That didn't rule out her stumbling across another bottle that had been emptied, of course; Hawke's ability to hold her liquor was almost legendary.  It was less impressive, of course, when it was Aveline's liquor.

 

"What is it now?" she asked, sitting in the chair next to the fire so she could start peeling off layers of armor and dirt.  Aveline glanced up and then hesitated when Hawke remained silent. The time since the group's return to Kirkwall had not been kind.  "Hawke?"

 

She seemed ... tired. Out of her league. Aveline had been there and there were still days she felt that sense of hopelessness and guilt. 

 

"I … talked to Anders," Hawke replied.  Her fingers weren't still as they played with the stem of the wine glass and Aveline can't even drum up enough irritation at the knowledge that it was _her_  wine glass.

 

"Ah. Well, I didn’t hear rumors that Darktown had imploded so it must have gone as well as could be expected."  It earned her a smile and Aveline grinned in response.  "Come on then, help me with this armor and we can talk."

 

_That_  earned her a snort but Hawke seemed eager enough to busy herself with helping Aveline unlatch and remove armor.  It gave her something to do; she might not have worn the heavy armor that Aveline did but was familiar enough with it to not be a nuisance.

 

Hawke quirked an eyebrow at a muddy, dented piece of shoulder armor as she set it to rest with the other pieces.  "I see you ran into trouble without me," she commented, unable to keep the note of worry from her voice.

 

Aveline waved a hand in dismissal.  "Nothing I couldn't handle.  You can't be everywhere, Hawke."

 

"And neither can you."

 

They gave each other a pointed look before bursting into tired laughter.  "We'll call it a draw," Aveline said, fetching herself a wine glass.  It was far too early, or late, to be drinking but the bottle was already open and it was obvious that she wouldn't be seeing her bed any time soon.  "Talk to me, then, if you're going to be drinking my wine and breaking into my house."

 

"I did build you a fire," Hawke pointed out as Aveline took the seat directly across from her.

 

"That you did, uninvited as it were.  Seriously, Hawke, you obviously came to talk, so talk.  Or leave me to my bed."

 

Hawke breathed in a sigh.  “It did not go as badly as I had anticipated. There were no explosions, he didn’t even throw anything at me, which was a bonus considering how breakfast went the other day…”

 

Despite her earlier irritation about Hawke getting into her wine, Aveline freshened up their glasses.  "So what did happen?"

 

Half the glass disappeared as Hawke went over the conversation she’d had with the mage. “And then I just got up and left. I mean, he didn’t have any food and it was a little awkward..."

 

“I can imagine.” Aveline topped off Hawke’s again though it was against her better judgement and her wine budget. “Do you think it helped?”

 

“Him or me?”

 

“Both though my preference is you at the moment. You might be a constant source of my headaches but at least you aren’t possessed and slightly explosive.”

 

“Slightly?”

 

Aveline shrugged. “Probably more than slightly. So, did it?”

 

It was Hawke’s turn to shrug. “A bit, I suppose, for me. It’s hard to tell right now. But I’m glad the talk happened because I don’t want this festering. Well, more than it has anyway.”

 

The truth was that what Anders had done had already caused a rift between him and the others, no matter how small for some. Both Aveline and Hawke knew that Fenris, always uncomfortable around mages, would never forget the incident. And neither would Merrill for different reasons.

 

“He’ll hermit for a while,” Aveline mused as she leaned back in her chair and towards the warmth of the fire. “That will help smooth ruffled feathers down.”

 

“It’ll also isolate him and I’m not sure if that’s healthy. We were all going a little nuts down in the Deep Roads but, Aveline, Anders really started to unravel down there. He would talk in his sleep during his nightmares and started to talk to himself during the day.” Hawke pushed the glass away with a sigh. “It got better after we found the treasure and he was back to himself when we finally realized we had a way out. But …”

 

“But madness is a slippery slope and he already has a guest in his head.” Aveline watched Hawke, saw the exhaustion in her limbs and the tilt of her head. She’d have to speak to the dwarf about the quality of Hawke’s sleep recently. “And you feel responsible.”

 

Hawke scowled. “I didn’t say that.”

 

“Please, Hawke, I held your hair when you were seasick on the voyage over. I can read your moods like an open book. _Unfortunately_. You feel responsible for, what, bringing him with you?”

 

With a burst of energy, Hawke shot to her feet and started to pace. Aveline snagged the wine bottle before it could get knocked over or find its way into the rogue’s hands. She put it on the other side of her where it would, hopefully, be safe.

 

“No, that’s not … okay, yes, maybe that’s it! Ugh, it certainly is it.” Hawke was running her hands through her hair, grabbing it and pulling on it as Aveline just quietly watched. “Not him, really. We needed a mage and if I’d just …” She kicked and sent the chair flying across the small room. “We needed him and his map and his knowledge of the Deep Roads! But I could have kept Bethany with me, I could have just used his map and left him at home, I could have done a dozen things differently but…”

 

When she turned around, Aveline felt that same feeling of her heart sinking towards her gut that she had when she’d first heard the news. Hawke’s face crumbled as the tears started and the rogue turned away, embarrassed. But she had nothing to be embarrassed about. 

 

Standing, Aveline laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “There could be an equally unpleasant outcome for each ‘what if’. I won’t tell you to stop going over them in your mind because you won’t. You can’t. To this day, I sometimes wake from dreams where Weasley and I had gone a different route or I took the blow in his stead.”

 

“This is different, it’s not…” Hawke flapped a hand.

 

“Not what? A death? That doesn’t invalidate what you’re feeling, Hawke.”

 

Hawke shrugged as she wrapped her arms around her middle. “Bethany’s alive and safe. Well, as safe as she can be, I guess. It has to count as something, right?”

 

“Grief isn’t reserved for death, Hawke. And the first person who tells you differently will have me to answer to.”

 

Hawke snorted. “Well, that’s terrifying.”

 

Aveline grinned and squeezed her shoulder. “As it should be." Hawke grew quiet and still and Aveline realized that her friend had reached her limit of sharing. She could almost see the walls being built back up, so she changed direction. "Now, am I able to kick you out of my house without guilt or…”

 

Laughing, the other woman drifted away so she could right the chair and, Aveline assumed, pull herself together. “No, my dear Captain of the Guard, I shall leave you to your beauty rest free of guilt.”

 

“Thank Andraste for small favors. Out you get Hawke and … kindly put the wine bottle down on your way out?”


	10. Soon To Be Filthy Rich

Varric felt the weight of Nora’s gaze the moment he stepped through the door of The Hanged Man and he glanced over his shoulder, hoping she was glaring at someone behind him.

She wasn’t. Of course she wasn't.

“Your Hawke confiscated four of my best bottles of wine, Tethras,” Nora said, shaking a finger in his direction. “And she said you were good for it.” The look on her face clearly said she hadn't believe it but arguing with Hawk was futile during the best times. Right now, it was nearly impossible. But apparently arguing with the friendly dwarf was a far better prospect. Luckily, for Varric’s hide, he knew the best way to soothe Nora.

“Nora, my darling, my love, my alcohol delivering goddess, of course I’m good for it.” He gave her his best saucy grin as he tossed a small bag her way. She was as quick with her fingers as most rogues and plucked it out of the air almost as fast as Varric could follow.

Nora’s eyebrows rose slightly as she weighed the leather bag in her hand but she didn’t comment. It generally wasn’t wise to comment on gold in The Hanged Man. Or, for that matter, in most of Kirkwall.

Varric settled for a simple, “See? I told you I was good for it.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the bar, Varric and Hawke forgotten for now. An unlucky drunk at the end of the bar was her next target and he probably didn’t have the response that Nora was looking for.

Varric decided it would probably be for the best escape quickly. After all, apparently Hawke had enough drink for the both of them waiting in his suite, so delaying only meant there'd be less of it to share.

He made it to his suite without any further incident to his pride or his finances. To be fair to Nora, his tab had gotten a little backlogged as of late. At least Bartrand’s attempt at killing them had the benefit that his bartender would now stop trying to kill him.

The warmth of the fire hit him the moment he stepped through the door and Varric blinked, a little startled. The fire was going as hard as it could possibly go - he doubted he’d ever even had it that hot or high before. A quick glance around the room didn’t show him Hawke, which was strange. He did see one of the four bottles of wine sitting, open, on his table but no Hawke.

At the sound of the door being closed, Hawke’s head suddenly popped up from behind the table. From what he could see, she looked exhausted but there was some color, at least, in her cheeks. Though that might have been because she was slowly roasting herself to death…

“Varric, there you are!” she said and something relaxed in Varric’s chest at the sight of the tired but genuine smile she shot him.

On further inspection, he realized she’d taken the blankets off the bed and had burrowed under them, leaving only her head and hands free.

Varric asked, “You doing okay, Waffles?” as he shucked first his boots and then his long coat. It had been a long day full of idiotic meetings with the Guild demanding to know where Bartrand was. It was good to be home, even if it felt like a furnace. And Hawke's continued presence in his rooms, the invitation having been extended until she no longer needed it, remained enjoyable. It wasn't as if they hadn't seen each other nearly every day before the Deep Roads. There was simply no closing time to their visits these days.

“Sorry about that.” She shook her head and he think she shrugged but it was hard to tell under the blankets. “I just … couldn’t get warm. So, I built up the fire and stole all of your blankets.”

“Again,” he added with a grin. On his way over, he’d snagged a glass and was now helping himself to the wine he’d just bought. Though he was nice enough to top off her glass as well. “You’re a terrible blanket thief, you know.”

Hawke snorted. “You sleep like the dead! You don’t even realize I’ve stolen them until the next morning.”

He couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh. “Just because I’m not _aware_ of the theft at the time doesn’t mean it isn’t theft, Hawke!” Varric collapsed into his chair and shook his head at her. “You’re a natural rogue.”

“Well, you know…” Hawke wiggled her fingers. “Stick with what you're good at.”

When she had moved, Varric caught sight of a stack of papers hidden under the pile of blankets wrapped around her. And one of his quills, too. He nodded at it and asked, “Trying to take over my side job, Hawke? I don’t think Kirkwall’s big enough for two good looking authors.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Please and cause your adoring fans to send assassins after me? I’ll pass.” Hawke looked down and the movement caused her hair to obscure her face while she studied whatever she’d been looking at earlier.

“Hey, Varric …” She was holding the papers now as she met his eyes again. “How much do you think we’ll make from what we found in the Deep Roads?”

Well, shit. He hadn’t been prepared for that. Varric drank some of his wine while he thought about it. About the pieces they’d been able to bring up with them, along with some of the actual gold. About what they’d left behind but were soon to recover once he picked his team. His very well vetted, well trusted team.

Eventually, he shook his head. Actual numbers at the moment were beyond him. There were too many variables and they were going to have to approach it carefully so as not to flood the market. Still, though, he did know one thing for absolute certain.

“A shit ton,” he said simply and smiled when she laughed a little. “No, seriously, Hawke. A shit ton. There’s no way for me to give you concrete numbers and I probably won’t be able to for a while. But you’re going to be hanging with a new crowd in Kirkwall once we get it all sorted. Hightown won’t know what hit it.”

Her eyes slid back to the paper clenched in her hands and eventually she held out for him to take.

Varric could _sense_ how important this was and he set aside his wine before taking it from her. What he was looking at was a copy, probably reproduced by some scribe because it certainly was far too neat to have been copied by Hawke, and his eyes widened a little when he started reading.

“It’s the deed to the house Mother inherited,” Hawke said softly. “Bethany and I retrieved it a while back and Mother’s been trying to petition Dumar’s office to get it back. But …”

“The back taxes?” he guessed, still reading.

The look of disgust on her face said it all. “Dumar wouldn’t waive them, so Mother developed a new hobby until I left for the Deep Roads. She went there nearly every day, trying to persuade them to help. So! You think I could, ah, afford to pay it off?”

He looked at her over the top of the papers and he saw the hope on her face. It looked good on her, he thought, glad to see it taking the space of exhaustion or grief. She was due some hope.

“Well,” he drawled, “I’m no genius with numbers - oh wait, I lied, I am. Hawke, you’ll be able to pay back those taxes ten fold.”

She made a noise and slumped into the blankets until all he could see were from her eyes up. They were crinkled at the corners so he guessed she was smiling but there were also tears, too. Something made him set aside the copy of the deed so he could slip from his chair to next to her and Hawke took the opportunity to lean against his side.

“I need to give her this,” Hawke whispered, resting her head against his shoulder as she adjusted her body under the blanket to accommodate the difference in heights. He’d slung an arm around her shoulders though the thickness of the blanket made it a little awkward. “Mother’s lost everything …”

Varric interrupted, “Except for you” and dropped a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Yeah. But … Bethany, Carver. Our home. Father. She’s watched it all just slip away one by one until we’re all that’s left. Mother deserves this, Varric. She deserves to have her home back and to just rest.”

Between the heat from the fire, the weight of the blanket and the warmth of Hawke’s body, Varric was starting to feel it. But he’d actually have to be set on fire, he thought firmly, before he’d let go before she was ready.

“I get that. Leandra’s handled more than most ever will. But …” His voice dropped in volume. “Marion, you’ve been through it all along with her. You want to do this for her, I get it. But what do _you_ want?”

Her breath hitched and she pressed closer, a hand tensed into a fist against his chest. He felt her shoulders shake. “I don’t … it doesn’t matter,” she said and his heart broke all over again. She sounded so tired, so broken.

“Bullshit.” Varric did pull away now but only so he could take her by her blanket clad shoulders. Gently but firmly, he moved them until she had no choice but to look at him. Tears tracked down her cheeks even as she tried to wipe them away. “It does fucking matter, Marion. You’re not the villain here and what you want does matter.”

He waited until she met his eyes again. “Lets try this again, okay sweetheart? What do you want?”

Hawke’s mouth opened, then closed. She swallowed hard and let the tears fall. “I want my home back,” she whispered. “I want my family back, Da and Carver and Bethany. I’ll never have that normal life again, Varric.”

“No,” he agreed, releasing one shoulder so he could brush hair out of her face, “you won’t. That life was stolen from you, same as it was stolen from Leandra. But you’ll find your new normal again.”

“Maker, I hope so. Especially since all this damned crying is getting embarrassing.” Sighing, she tipped forward to lean her head on his shoulder. “If I can’t have that life again, then I want a home of my own. The Amell estate can be that. I think. I just … I want a home.”

“Okay. We can do that.”

“You think so?”

“Have you seen some of the shit we’ve been able to accomplish when we put our heads together? Reclaiming your long lost ancestral home is going to be the easiest thing we’ve done in months.”

She laughed and sat up, scrubbing at her face. “What would I do without you, Varric?”

He smirked. “I have no idea. Luckily for you, Hawke, you won’t have to find out any time soon. Come on, we need to kill at least two of these bottles you somehow managed to get me to buy for you…”

Hawke wiggled her eyebrows as she unburrowed herself from the blankets. “I knew you’d do it because you love me and don’t want me to die by Nora’s hands.”

Varric’s smile softened slightly. “Something like that, I guess. That and my own sense of self-preservation. Nora hasn’t killed me yet and I would like to keep it that way.”

She grabbed his wine glass and handed it to him before taking up her own. “The next one’s on me.”

“Don’t you mean the next _four_?”


	11. 'Miss me, boys?'

"Am I going to regret this?"

Aveline's voice cut through her thoughts and Hawke glanced up from the slip of paper in her hands. "Is ... that a rhetorical question?" she asked slowly, a half smile on her face. "Because I'm pretty sure there's been a lot that you've come to regret since we boarded that ship together."

Not even a flicker of a smile at Hawke's words, though that wasn't much for concern. Aveline's poker face was nearly legendary in Kirkwall and she had been hiding behind it since she'd summoned Hawke to her office earlier that morning. Coffee and a slip of paper - a job, actually, the first since her return to the surface - had been waiting. They'd polished off the coffee before going over the particulars.

There weren't many. Aveline had explained that slavers on the Wounded Coast had become rather active as of late. From what she'd been able to gather, two different groups had made an accord and had, in essence, gone into business together. The united front had presented a bit of a problem for Aveline while Hawke was away - she'd had trouble in Kirkwall she'd been forced to focus on. Fenris and the others had been of some help but they'd never been able to get to the heart of the group.

They might have a chance now. If the information was correct, if it wasn't wrong or a trap, the new leaders for the group were coming to shore to discuss their next big venture. Aveline swore by her contact, which was good enough for Hawke. Aveline didn't place her trust in people easily.

"It's not like you need the money anymore, Hawke," Aveline continued. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "You certainly don't  _have_ to take these kinds of jobs now, you know."

Hawke snorted, waved the paper at her friend. "And what else should I do?"

"Enjoy the fruits of your labor?" came the dry response. "Relax? See the sights? Take up a hobby? I hear knitting is supposed to be relaxing."

Hawke glared though there was no real heat there - _knitting?_  Not much heat, anyway."Oh sure and you'll be forced to lock me up in a month if that's the case. I don't -" She rubbed at her hair, unaware or uncaring of how the spikes that appeared when she dropped her hand. "You're right, I don't need to do this for money anymore. But I need to do  _something_. I'm not good at anything else, Aveline, or not good enough to keep me occupied. The idea of a  _life of leisure_..." She shuddered in horror.

Across from her, Aveline sighed. She wasn't surprised but she couldn't help but feel a little sad that her friend wouldn't - couldn't - hang up the daggers. Andraste knew that Hawke had lost enough and deserved some peace but at the same time ... she knew she was being the worst kind of hypocrite by even suggesting such a thing. She'd never been able to put down the shield for the very same reasons. Was it surprising that Hawke wouldn't?

"Have it your way," she sighed. "I won't be able to come with you this time so please..."

"Be careful? Yes, mother."

"I was going to say try and not make a huge mess this time but I suppose be careful works just as well."

~~

Of course she had asked Fenris to come with her. Hawke never missed a chance to give him the opportunity to take down slavers and, besides, he'd been working on this particular group during her absence. It would have been a disservice to leave him home. 

Merrill had been her next stop. To her surprise, Fenris hadn't commented one way or the other while they waited for the other elf to get read. (Though he'd rolled his eyes so hard they'd nearly fallen out of his skull at her overlong hugging of Hawke. It'd taken Hawke more than ten minutes to calm Merrill down and tell her to stop apologizing.) Hawke had been unwilling to ask Anders to join them just yet, their truce was still too new and she knew it didn't extend to the others yet.  _Especially_ Fenris.

And, of course, Varric. He'd been the first she'd sent for, the first to arrive.

And the first to complain about being forced to traipse all over the Wounded Coast. Hawke sweetly reminded him he needed his weekly exercise and he'd flipped her off to the amusement of Fenris and confusion of Merrill.

To be honest, it had felt nice to be heading out of Kirkwall. Not only did the Wounded Coast simply smell better than the city, Hawke had been growing increasingly restless and too often had gotten bogged down with miserable, unhelpful thoughts. Now, though, she felt for the first time like she could leave that Marion behind for the time being. Without a doubt those thoughts and feelings were waiting for her in the walls of Kirkwall but until she returned, she had a job to do.

Hawke rolled her shoulders and felt the comforting weight of her leathers and weapons shift with the movement.

"Okay, folks," she said as the breeze suddenly changed to carry with it a hint of the ocean, "let's go find us some slavers."

~~

The information they'd received held true. The slaver party was located a few hours along the coast, tucked away in a small cove that would have been impossible to find without the information that Aveline's people had gathered.

Perched a little distance aways on an overgrown hill with plenty of tall grass and rocks to hide her, Hawke watched the group below with narrowed eyes. Twelve men were on the shore itself, another handful in a small boat. The group on the shore shifted and moved but she'd been watching long enough to figure out who the big shots were. They stood in the back of the cove as they talked. It was hard to tell from the distance but Hawke wondered if the two groups weren't so seamlessly meshed - enough of the men were separate from each other and there'd been a few heated words exchanged to make her wonder. That would play to their favor.

One last glance at the sun and one more at the group and then she nodded. They needed to act soon if they wanted to get the jump on the group before they slipped away. The only good slaver was a dead one and she had every intention of making every single one of them very, very good slavers.

With extreme care, Hawke eased herself back the way she'd come. For those few slavers who happened to glance her way, if they saw anything at all it simply looked like tall grass swaying in the breeze.

~~

They did not die quietly. Or easily. But they did die.

~~

The soft sound of running on top of the hill that formed that cleverly hidden - though not as clever as they had once thought - cove might have disappeared under the sound of the waves as they crashed on the beach but nothing would have been able to cover up the sound of a sharp cry as Hawke flung herself right off the top of that hill. She thought she might have heard Varric curse her name but between her yell, the sound of the slavers beneath her and the air ... well, it was hard to say, really, if Varric was cursing at her.

She hadn't aimed for the leaders, they were too far away from the drop, but her aim on the poor sod she did land on, knives first, was spot on.

The impact slammed the now rather dead body hard on the sand and sent vibrations through Hawke as she rode him down, daggers shoved deep into his chest. She grinned up through her hair at the stunned gathering, said, "Miss me, boys?" and then all hell broke loose.

One solid jerk slid the daggers out, blood everywhere, even as she shoved off the body beneath her. A dagger, not hers, whistled where her head had been had she not launched herself into a well time backflip. And then it all became that strange blur of time that only came during the heat of battle.

If she thought it a relief to leave Kirkwall behind, Hawke had _no idea_ how it would feel to let the rage of battle wash over her entire being. Bethany and the Circle, her mother and the Dark Roads, fell away as she slashed and dodged. The guilt and never ending sadness drained away as the blood did on the beach. Even the sudden pain on her arm from a sword was a welcomed distraction.

She might have laughed as the one with the sword tried to drive it into her guts, she might have cried, she wouldn't remember. And maybe later it would worry her but now - not remembering was a  _gift_.

 


	12. “The next time I throw myself off a cliff, I’ll tell you in advance.”

“Damn it, Hawke, that was insane, even for you! You could have gotten hurt …” Varric stopped his yelling long enough to gesture at her bleeding arm. “More than you already are!”

“Look, it doesn’t even hurt!”

Hawke winced when she tried to raise her arm and Varric looked even more unimpressed as fresh blood dripped down her elbow and onto the sand. It really wasn’t that bad but it was a bleeder which made it look worse that it really was.

“Hawke…!”

She tried to ignore the look on his face or the tone in his voice. She’d known from the moment she’d dropped the last slaver and had seen him staring at him from across the beach. Hawke had scared him, badly, but she just … she couldn’t explain.

Something surged through her as she turned away from him and she closed her eyes tightly. “Okay, maybe it does hurt a little,” she lied through the taste of panic. Blaming the twist of guilt on the pain was a convenient and easy way to go.

A hand, cool and long, touched her uninjured arm and Hawke jerked her eyes open to see Fenris by her side. “Walk with me,” he said simply.

Varric sighed from behind them and Fenris spared him a glance. “Don’t fret so much, dwarf, I’ll see to that papercut.”

Hawke couldn’t help the snort of laughter as she clearly imagined the look on Varric’s face, though she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Instead, she let Fenris gently lead her to a series of rocks on the other side of the cove.

She dropped onto the tallest of them and folded over until her head hit her knees. Her arm throbbed in protest but she ignored it.

“I’m an idiot.”

There was a brief silence before Fenris cleared his throat. “Are you … looking for me to disagree with you?”

Hawke glared at her knees even as the elf pulled blood soaked cloth away from the sword wound. “It wouldn’t hurt if you did but since I know I am, it doesn’t matter much.”

He hummed slightly in reply and she felt her arm being gently rotated this way and that as he inspected it. “Long but shallow,” he declared, “perhaps slightly bigger than a papercut, I suppose. But Varric will have to mourn your death another day.”

She didn’t respond as she studied her knees and she heard Fenris softly sigh.

“May I give you some advice?”

Now she peeked up at, just in time to see him slip some clean cloth out of his pocket. “Fenris,” she said slowly, “I can’t remember the last time someone bothered to ask. There are days I make it to breakfast and Isabela has already given me five pieces of unasked for advice, all of them sexual in nature.”

Later, she would dismiss the red on his cheeks as sunburn.

“Yes, well, things are ... different now.”

Yes, yes they were. It made her a little sad to think that her friends were treating her differently but she knew they were coming from well meaning places. Hopefully in time, everything, and not just this, would start to feel more normal again.

Hope was the one thing she was trying to cling to.

“Advice away, then, while you bandage me up. I’m not going anywhere for a bit.”

Especially considering that behind them was an angry and upset dwarf, one she wanted to apologize to but didn’t know how to begin.

“You are angry and with good reason. No one is saying that you should not be angry. But …” Fenris’ eyes trailed up and away from Hawke to the top of the cave where she’d made her jump. “But that was reckless, even for you. The anger…”

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t use it, I need to just …”

He snorted and it was almost a laugh. “Do you really think I, of all people, would actually recommend you don’t utilize that anger?” Fenris tapped her chest over her heart with his free hand. “Use it, don’t be used by it. Your anger can be your greatest weapon but only if you are in control.”

It didn’t even seem possible. Hawke felt awash in emotions, like she was lost on the ocean. She was aware of them and, sometimes, could turn from one emotion to the other but only with a great expenditure of energy. The idea that she could channel anything into something useful, something long term…

As tendrils of panic started to creep through her chest, Hawke glanced up and caught the steady gaze of Fenris. He was still working on her arm but his eyes were on her.

“How?” she asked, the word nearly lost beneath the sound of the waves behind them.

How, she mean, had he done it? Come down from the pain and the rage that had been his every waking minute to be a functional person again?

“Time. Patience.” His lips quirked in that almost smile of his. “And a lot of wine.”

Hawke laughed and wiped at her face. “A lot of wine, that’s something I think I can handle.” The time and the patience part of it, not so much. The wine …

Which reminded her.

She turned to look over her shoulder and saw Varric watching-not-watching them as he and Merrill pocketed gold and valuables. (She had to wonder if they really needed to keep doing that but didn’t have the heart to stop them.)

“Hey, Varric?” Hawke called.

He looked up and, even though she really couldn’t see, she knew he was raising an eyebrow at her. Varric was trying to appear unimpressed though Hawke knew he was incredibly upset with her.

“Yes, Hawke?”

“I promise that the next time …” She glanced back at Fenris and grinned before turning to Varric again. “The next time I throw myself off a cliff, I’ll tell you in advance.”


	13. Feelings Are Complicated

"And then she said ' _The next time I throw myself off a cliff, I’ll tell you in advance.'_ "

Aveline laughed as Varric covered his face with both hands. "Of course she did," she chuckled, leaning over to pour him another healthy shot. It was one of the few bottles that Hawke hadn’t been able to ferret out - Aveline had taken one look at the expression on Varric’s face when he’d entered her office and had immediately unearthed it. She'd have to find a new hiding spot for the next bottle.

“You sound … surprised,” she continued, topping off her own glass. She was technically off duty, after all, and her office door was firmly closed.

“Less surprised, more aged ten years in one afternoon,” he grumbled before he killed the drink she’d poured for him. Aveline winced when he set it down on her desk - it wasn’t quite a slam but it wasn’t gentle, either. “Maker’s Breath, Aveline, what was she thinking?! Hawke’s always been a little flying by the seat of her pants but …”

“Honestly, Varric, are you really that shocked by her actions?” Aveline asked. One hand held the glass she was nursing, the other one kept a grip on the bottle for safe keeping. 

Varric’s eyebrows bunched together as looked at her and she smiled, a little, when she noticed his eyes had flicked to the bottle momentarily. “And you’re saying that you aren’t?”

“Honestly, not all that much. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Varric, it’s not like I thought she’d throw herself off a cliff of all things. But this is the first time Hawke’s been in a fight since they took Bethany - you of all people should know she’s been a wreck since then. So, no, I can’t say I’m all that surprised she did something reckless and stupid because her head isn't in the game.”

The look he leveled at her was part irritation, part anger. “Do I need to remind you that you’re the one who gave her the lead, O Captain of the Guard?” he asked, as close to snapping as Aveline had ever heard him get with her.

She let it pass. This time.  

“Hardly.” Aveline sighed and leaned her arms on her desk. Suddenly everything felt heavy - her armor, her sword, her emotions. “She’s been holed up with us, mostly you, ever since she returned.” She held up a hand as Varric went to interrupt. “I’m not saying that it’s been a bad thing. I’m grateful you’re there for her, that she’s _allowed_ you to be there for her…”

Sometimes Aveline wondered if the others forgot that she had known Hawke the longest. The only one outside of Leandra and Bethany that had seen how Marion had struggled to remain the pillar of strength in the face of Carver’s death and their flight to safety. The trip across the ocean to Kirkwall would have been bad enough without the shared sense of guilt and grief that both Aveline and Hawke had carried with them. 

They rarely spoke of those days now but Aveline would never forget them. And she was being honest - it was a relief to see that Hawke was, this time, actually relying on someone.

“But,” she continued, “Hawke’s not one for being idle. Stewing in her grief and anger would have crippled her in the long run. She made a reckless mistake now but I’m hoping that’ll … bleed off. Eventually.”

Varric looked dubious and she didn’t blame him. After all, she hadn’t been the one to see Hawke throw herself off a cliff like a moron. “Eventually,” he sighed after a moment. “How long until ‘eventually’?”

Aveline shrugged. “As long as it takes.” 

“Well … shit.” He reached over and snatched the bottle from her and Aveline only glared halfheartedly. At least he remembered to pour her a glass, too. He raised his glass and clinked it against hers. “Well, I suppose here’s to as long as it takes.”

“And here’s to Hawke not throwing herself off of any cliffs any time soon,” Aveline responded gravely. 

***

It took a few more glasses before Varric decided it was time to head out. “I have a late meeting to attend to,” he sighed as he slipped Bianca over his shoulder. “And then, home.”

“And where is Hawke?” Aveline asked, voice distressingly even for having helped to finish off the bottle. 

“Over at Broody’s. Whatever they were talking about on the beach seemed to get through to her. Though, knowing those two, it’s probably broken down to uncomfortable silence and lots of drinking, so…” Varric spread his hands and shrugged before he turned towards the door. 

“Varric?” 

He paused mid step to look back at her over his shoulder.

“And how are you?” Aveline asked, voice quiet. 

“Me?” 

“Yes, you, dwarf. You’ve had no time to deal with Bartrand’s betrayal and you were close to Bethany. How are you?” 

Varric was taken aback but also touched at the same time. And just a tad uncomfortable - he didn't do emotions, really. But Aveline was right. He really hadn’t had a chance to work through his own complicated feelings but, then again, he’d pay his weight in gold to avoid even trying.

“I appreciate it, Aveline, I do. But I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

 He smiled and bowed. “You say the nicest things, Aveline.”

 “Oh, go darken someone else's doorstep, Varric, and steal someone else’s drink.” 

***

By the time Varric was able to darken his _own_ doorstep, it was very late. Late enough that he was forced to use his key to access the Hanged Man’s front door because while some people might not believe it, like Isabela, but Norah did actually close up shop for the night.

Or, well, morning.

It just had been a while since Varric had come back after closing hours. It was always a strange sensation to walk through the pub proper and have it be empty. Though after his meeting with the Merchant’s Guild, the quiet was a nice change of pace. They were still demanding to know where Bartrand was and, Andraste’s tits, if he knew he’d hand him over on a silver platter. In the end, he’d simply walked out. He would probably pay for that later but right now, he just wanted to sleep. He’d earned it.

It was a pleasant surprise to find that the set of suites he called home weren’t completely dark; the fire was still burning, though it was down to embers now. Light enough for him to barely avoid tripping over a pair of discarded boots left nearly right in front of the door.

A bottle - the _unopened_ bottle - caught his attention before he could start grumbling. Varric drifted to the table and spotted the note underneath it.

_Stole this from Broody. Owe you one less._

_xoxoxoxox_

_H_

Varric turned to the lump in his bed. “It doesn’t count if you _steal_ it Hawke,” he muttered, glad she wasn’t there to see the smile. She’d be smug for days. Or at least she would have been in different circumstances.

At least she’d been nice enough not to take over the entire bed but she had stolen most of the covers. All he could see was tufts of hair at one end and a foot at the other. Everything else was just a lump. A soon to be hungover lump, Varric mused. He know how much Fenris and Hawke could drink when they got together. Considering her stunt, which he was still angry about, he should let her suffer …

Varric rubbed at his face. “Shit, it’s a good thing you’re pathetic when you’re hungover.” Despite the lingering anger, he fetched a glass of water and one of the potions Anders had made for him ages ago that took the edge off. Both were placed on the side table next to the Lump That Was Hawke.

Drunk and asleep, it didn’t matter, Hawke woke from the quiet noises of the glass being set down. The lump moved and an eye blinked up at him from a mess of hair and blankets. “Varric?” she murmured, voice thick from sleep and drink.

“Shh. Go back to sleep, Waffles,” he responded. He reached out and smoothed down her hair and she drifted back to sleep without another word.

Truth be told, Hawke was not the only one emotionally and physically drained from everything that had been thrown at them. Varric might, one day, look back on this moment and recognize it for what it really was. As it was, he ignored everything in favor of slipping into his bed to wrestle some of those blankets back and to fall into deep slumber next to Hawke.

**Author's Note:**

> Hawke's guilt/sense of loss in the story is a reflection of my own in the face of the passing of my sister a few years ago. It's an emotional journey for me and I hope I'll do Hawke and myself justice.


End file.
